THE 

BLUE 
ROOM 


COSMO  HAMILTON 


r  \    •  L 

— n 


. 


THE   BLUE   ROOM 


JBy  Cosmo  Ibamilton 

THE  BLUE  ROOM 

SCANDAL 

WHO  CAKES  ? 

His  FRIEND  AND  His  WIFB 

THE  SINS  OF  THE  CHILDREN 

THE  BLINDNESS  OF  VIRTUE 

THE  DOOR  THAT  HAS  No  KEY 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  LOVE 


One  more  blundering  pause, —  and  then  the  cry,  and 

the  meeting  of  lips,  and  the  welding  of  hearts. 

FRONTISPIECE.     Seepage  196. 


THE  BLUE  ROOM 

BY 

COSMO  HAMILTON 

"  Into  the  Blue  Room  thou  shalt  not  look." 

WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 

WILSON  V.  CHAMBERS 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1920 


Copyright,  1920, 
BY  COSMO  HAMILTON. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published  October,  1920 


rr  3 

Set  up  and  electrotyped  by  J.  S.  Gushing  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


THE  BLUE  ROOM 


2136059 


4  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

There  was  a  whoop  of  joy  from  the  telephone 
closet  in  the  hall,  a  rush  back  into  the  dining-room, 
and  a  message  read  in  a  young,  round  voice  which 
trembled  with  something  more  than  excitement. 

"  Embark  this  morning  Leviathan  with  whole 
bunch  Major  Bill  Mortimer  in  charge  loud  cheers 
Tom." 

Nearly  performing  the  nose  trick  with  a  mouth- 
ful of  coffee,  Wainwright  set  down  his  cup,  sprang 
to  his  feet,  seized  the  girl  with  the  dancing  eyes  and 
whirled  her  round  the  pompous  and  astonished  room. 
The  dead  accuracy  of  banking  had  not  succeeded  in 
drying  up  the  well  of  emotion  in  this  man's  soul. 

Breakfast  discarded,  train  forgotten,  conferences 
left  in  mid-air,  and  with  a  damn-all  feeling  for  the 
responsibilities  of  the  day  in  the  face  of  the  glorious 
news  of  ihis  son's  escape  alive  and  whole  from  the 
great  graveyard  of  France,  old  man  Wainwright 
with  the  heart  of  a  boy  and  the  love  of  a  father 
dashed  upstairs  to  his  ailing  wife,  and  shut  the  door. 
No  one  but  she  could  share,  or  be  permitted  to  see, 
his  utter  thankfulness. 

The  chauffeur,  with  his  eyes  on  his  watch,  sat 
waiting  in  the  car. 

For  a  moment,  breathless  and  disheveled,  Martha 
stood  alone  in  the  big  room  with  the  slip  of  paper 
held  tight  against  her  heart.  But  when,  with  a  little 
dhoking  cry,  she  raised  it  to  her  lips  it  was  not  the 
name  of  her  brother  that  she  kissed  first  but  of  the 


other  man,  the  gallant  Bill  who  had  n't  the  remotest 
idea  that,  within  a  mile  of  his  parental  house,  there 
lived  a  little  girl  whose  constant  prayers  had  helped 
to  keep  his  name  from  being  stamped  upon  German 
bullets. 

At  the  first  warning  honk  from  the  car  Martha 
also  took  to  the  stairs,  nipped  up  three  at  a  time  and 
tapped  on  the  door  which  must  not,  her  gift  of  sym- 
pathy told  her,  be  opened. 

"Fa-ther!" 

"  I  'm  not  catching  this  train.     Hang  work !  " 

Again  the  honk. 

"  Fa-ther." 

"  I  tell  you  I  'm  chucking  the  city  to-day.  Can't  I 
give  it  a  miss  in  balk  once  in  a  lifetime?  " 

And  then  a  quiet  voice  from  the  bed  at  the  side  of 
which  knelt  old  man  Wainwright,  —  not  so  precious 
old  as  all  that  goes  either.  "  I  think  you  'd  better 
go,  dear." 

"  Yes,  but  Tom  's  coming  home.  My  Heaven, 
what 's  the  matter  with  a  round  of  golf  with  Martha 
to  celebrate?  .  .  ." 

Once  more  the  honk,  —  the  last. 

"Fa-ther!" 

"  Oh  well  then !  "  He  scrambled  to  his  feet.  He 
had  intended  to  go.  There  was  so  much  to  be  done. 
The  financial  situation  in  Europe  was  in  utter  chaos 
and  it  behooved  American  bankers  to  shake  off  pa- 
rochialism and  look  across  the  narrowed  Atlantic. 
But  he  was  n't  going  to  let  Martha  see  his  face  until 
he  had  it  under  control,  or  the  chauffeur  either. 


6  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  So  long,  Elizabeth.  Thank  the  good  God  our 
boy  's  coming  back !  " 

But  after  all  his  head  was  turned  away  from 
Martha  as  he  passed  her  and  went  down.  A  man 
needs  sons  and  daughters  before  he  can  understand 
the  meaning  of  love.  He  must  also  have  built  up  a 
big  business  to  appreciate  the  difficulty  of  letting  it 
run  without  him. 

From  the  bedroom  window  Martha  watched  the 
car  disappear  and  lingered  there,  eyeing  the  trees  in 
their  first  faint  flush  of  green,  and  listening  to  the 
mating  call  of  birds.  She,  too,  wanted  to  let  some- 
thing go  out  of  her  eyes  before  she  turned  to  her 
mother.  She  felt  that  they  were  blazing  like  beacons. 

"  He  '11  be  in  time,"  she  said. 

"  To  find  me  out  and  about,  I  trust."  Mrs.  Wain- 
wright  added  up  the  days  of  the  Leviathan's  voyage. 
Whatever  happened  she  must  meet  that  ship. 

"Martha!" 

Beacons  or  not  that  little  cry  must  be  answered. 
.  .  .  They  held  each  other  in  inarticulate  gratitude 
and  wept  a  little  for  joy.  Those  two  years  had  been 
almost  too  long. 

"  But  I  must  n't  keep  you,  my  dear,"  said  the 
mother  at  last.  "  What  should  I  do  without  you?  " 

With  visions  of  a  long  ordering  list,  a  new  cook 
to  diplomatize  and  the  man  to  see  about  the  new 
awnings  Martha  went  to  the  glass  to  straighten  her 
hair  and  prepare  herself  for  action.  She  turned  at 
the  door  and  waved  a  kiss.  She  could  trust  herself 
now,  she  thought. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  7 

Mrs.  Wainwright's  eyes  were  very  sharp. 
"What  other  good  news  have  you  heard?"  she 
asked. 

But  Martha  was  out  before  the  question  was  fin- 
ished. It 's  a  trick  all  daughters  have.  And  before 
going  down  to  take  hold  of  the  reins  so  often  and  so 
fretfully  resigned  by  the  delicate  woman  whose 
bronchial  tubes  made  her  a  frequent  prisoner  to  her 
bed,  the  girl  ran  along  the  passage  to  her  own  room 
and  opened  the  little  box  in  which  she  hid  her  se- 
cret. .  .  .  The  snap-shot  was  of  a  tall,  wiry,  dark- 
haired  man  in  polo  kit,  with  one  foot  on  the  rail  of 
a  chair  and  the  sun  slanting  across  a  laughing  face. 
Photography  failed  to  show  the  deep  tan  of  the  skin, 
the  gray  of  the  eyes  or  the  touch  of  red  in  the  small 
mustache.  But  it  captured  the  virility  and  strength 
of  the  body,  the  width  of  chest,  and  the  hardness  of 
a  well-developed  forearm.  It  was  Bill  Mortimer 
playing  the  last  of  a  lifetime  of  games  before  he  got 
into  khaki  to  play  the  one  whose  ultimate  goal  was 
set  up  at  the  further  end  of  a  field  of  death.  .  .  . 

Not  with  the  skin-deep  hero-worship  of  a  child  of 
seventeen  had  she  secured  this  picture  but  with  the 
sort  of  love  that  takes  root  in  the  heart  of  a  woman 
and  if  it  never  bursts  into  blossom  and  eventually 
has  by  its  side  another  plant  remains  forever  the 
first  and  the  best.  In  his  father's  house  away  across 
the  meadows  and  the  woods  she  had  met  Bill  Morti- 
mer and  trembled  as  the  arrow  had  winged  into  her 
heart.  Perhaps  a  dozen  times  since  then  she  had 
listened  to  his  laugh,  shivered  at  the  careless  touch 


8  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

of  his  hand,  stored  up  the  easy  words  that  he  had 
said  to  her  ("  the  little  Wainwright  kid  "),  watched 
him,  through  a  blinding  mist  of  tears,  drive  off  to 
the  city,  knowing  instinctively  that  he  had  been  at 
home  to  say  good-by,  and  then,  without  his  even  re- 
membering that  she  lived,  patterned  the  floor  of 
Heaven  with  her  prayers.  .  .  .  They  had  been 
heard  and  he  was  coming  back!  ..."  Hope  sees  a 
star  and  listening  Love  can  hear  the  rustling  of  a 
wing." 

II 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  before  Martha  had  set  her  house 
in  order  for  the  day.  The  new  cook,  an  Irish 
woman  with  antagonistic  eyes  and  the  manners  of 
a  prizefighter,  had  demanded  an  interview.  Like 
many  others  of  the  same  kind  this  had  taken  place  in 
the  library  where  at  a  desk  at  a  respectful  distance 
from  her  father's  Martha  docketed  her  bills  and 
sorted  away  her  receipts.  With  a  back  as  flat  as  a 
billiard  table  and  a  face  like  that  of  one  of  those 
white  horses  which  hauled  great  lorries  about  in  the 
narrow  streets  in  the  roaring  Forties,  this  terrible 
woman  with  the  romantic  name  of  Eileen  McCar- 
row  gave  out  her  first  list  of  grievances.  Her  bed- 
room was  too  small  and  the  window  faced  east. 
She  must  have  a  new  set  of  kitchen  utensils  and  one 
of  those  white  enamel  arrangements  full  of  drawers 
for  tea  and  coffee  and  pepper  and  salt  and  mustard 
and  flour  and  a  hundred  other  things  which  help  to 
decorate  a  kitchen  and  are  never  by  any  chance 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  9 

used.  The  waitress  might  perhaps  remain  but  the 
rest  of  the  servants  and  especially  the  chauffeur 
must  be  cleared  out  at  once.  "  Otherwise,  as  God  's 
my  judge,  I  '11  not  be  stayin',  an'  that 's  flat." 

To  all  of  which,  with  a  deep  knowledge  of  the 
breed,  Martha  replied,  "  There  's  a  nice  train  back 
to  town  at  12.22.  If  you  will  have  your  trunk 
packed  by  twelve  o'clock  I  will  have  a  taxi  here  for 
you."  Whereupon  Eileen  McCarrow,  a  mere  com- 
mon bully  like  the  rest  of  her  type,  gave  one  quick 
glance  at  the  charming  figure  with  the  steady  blue 
eyes,  snorted  and  disappeared  into  the  kitchen. 
"  I  '11  be  givin'  der  place  a  chance,"  she  murmured, 
as  she  stumped  away. 

After  one  more  visit  to  her  mother  to  see  that 
she  had  everything  that  she  needed,  Martha  went 
out  into  the  garden.  It  was  grass  cutting  day  and 
the  two  gardeners,  Tony  Caruso  and  Leonardo 
Benvenuti,  were  typical  Wops  and  had  a  way,  when 
the  day  was  warm  and  nobody  was  keeping  an  eye 
upon  them,  of  leaving  their  machines  behind  a 
zareba  of  trees,  of  making  themselves  particularly 
comfortable  under  their -shade  and  discussing  the 
virtues  of  Orlando  and  the  intricacies  of  the  League 
of  Nations  while  they  ate  youthful  onions  newly 
plucked  from  the  warm  earth.  It  was  very  human 
and  characteristic,  but  wages,  like  everything  else, 
were  high,  and  grass  had  a  way  of  growing  exu- 
berantly in  the  spring.  Being  possessed  of  an  ex- 
treme amount  of  moral  courage  Martha  routed 
them  into  the  open  and  warned  them  that  if  the 


10  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

lawns  were  not  properly  cut  by  twelve  o'clock  there 
would  be  two  more  picturesque  Italians  looking  for 
new  jobs.  Both  of  them  had  a  healthy  respect  for 
the  girl  who  used  simple  words  with  quiet  emphasis 
and  were  very  well  aware  of  the  fact  that  empty 
threats  were  not  in  her  line.  It  was  wonderful  to 
see  with  what  energy  these  two  undersized,  un- 
washed specimens  of  a  sunny  country  immediately 
pursued  the  even  tenor  of  their  way.  The  clack  of 
their  two  machines  inspired  all  near-by  birds  to 
song. 

Armed  with  the  slip  of  paper  which  meant  as 
much  to  Bill's  people  as  it  did  to  herself  and  her 
father  and  mother  Martha  made  her  way  down  to 
the  road  which  led  to  the  old  Mortimer  place,  the 
landmark  of  that  part  of  Westchester.  About  half 
a  mile  from  her  own  house  it  lay  far  back  from  the 
road  surrounded  by  trees  and  led  up  to  under  a  long 
and  winding  avenue.  Somewhere  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years  old,  its  numerous  windows  looked 
over  five  hundred  acres  of  woods  and  farm  land. 
A  dear  old  rambling  building  upon  which  the  hand 
of  a  vandal  had  never  been  laid,  with  a  high  Co- 
lonial portico  which  gave  it  dignity  and  charm,  it 
wore  an  air  of  extreme  well-being  and  mothered 
many  out-houses  and  a  low  stable  building  with  a 
square  courtyard  which  had  obviously  been  built  in 
the  days  of  coaching.  Every  inch  of  it  reeked  with 
history  and  was  pervaded  with  the  spirits  of  those 
fine  Americans  who  had  carried  on  the  traditions  of 
Washington.  A  sunken  rose  garden  with  warm 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  11 

brick  paths  caught  the  eye  as  one  approached,  and  a 
dozen  great  oak  trees  stood  sentinel  on  the  edge  of 
a  rolling  lawn. 

Not  altogether  with  the  approval  of  her  good 
parents,  to  whom  the  extraordinary  story  of  the 
Mortimers  was  a  matter  of  frequent  and  rather 
starchy  discussion,  Martha  had  become  the  affec- 
tionate and  admiring  protegee  of  the  distinguished 
white-haired  lady  who  had  been  inspired  to  retire 
from  the  world  at  precisely  the  right  moment.  The 
fascination  of  spring  for  autumn  and  of  a  young 
girl  for  a  woman  whose  life  had  run  its  active 
course,  naturally  came  into  this  friendship,  and 
hardly  a  day  passed  that  did  not  find  these  two 
wandering  together  among  the  old  gardens  newly 
astir  and  ebullient,  the  one  to  listen  eagerly  to  the 
stories  about  Bill  which  the  other  was  only  too  anx- 
ious to  tell.  It  was  with  the  utmost  pleasure 
therefore  that  Martha  hurried  round  to  break  the 
good  news  which  had  just  been  received  over  the 
cable  from  Tom. 

To  Martha  who  rose  at  seven  o'clock  the  day  was 
no  longer  young.  To  the  Mortimers  it  was  only 
just  beginning. 

A  man  of  elaborate  portliness,  important  pres- 
ence and  canonical  dignity  was  tapping  a  barometer 
that  hung  on  a  wide  beam  to  the  left  of  the  front 
door  as  the  girl  arrived  at  the  house,  her  butter- 
colored  hair  bare  to  the  sun.  By  the  subordinates 
who  were  ruled  by  him  with  that  mixture  of  ingen- 
ious blasphemy  and  autocratic  firmness  which  be- 


12  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

longs  to  drill  sergeants  Albery  was  known  as  the 
greyhound,  because  he  made  a  little  hair  go  a  long 
way.  The  pun  was  a  bad  one,  but  its  effect  on 
people  who  had  never  heard  it  before  and  who  mar- 
veled at  the  painstaking  way  in  which  several 
strands  of  black  hair  were  plastered  upon  an  other- 
wise bald  head  was  an  instant  gust  of  mirth.  He 
was  one  of  the  last  of  a  breed  of  butlers  who  re- 
gard their  work  as  a  vocation  and  come  to  it  with 
the  tradition  of  many  butler  ancestors. 

Hearing  a  quick  light  step  on  the  veranda  he 
turned  and  bowed,  with  just  the  faint  beginning  of 
a  respectful  smile.  "  Good  morning,  Miss 
Martha,"  he  said,  his  voice  denoting  a  lifelong  run 
of  enviable  wine-cellars. 

"  Good  morning,  Albery.  Is  Mrs.  Mortimer 
down  yet?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Miss.  Nor  Mr.  Mortimer  neither. 
And  there  is  breakfast  to  go,  during  which  I  must 
not  allow  them  to  be  disturbed." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  forgot  that.  But  I  've  run  over  with 
great  news  and  I  thought  I  ought  to  give  it  at  once." 

Albery  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went  so  far 
as  to  permit  himself  to  chuckle.  "  It 's  as  much 
as  my  life  's  worth  to  advance  a  remark  during  the 
process  of  the  first  meal,  Miss,  —  let  the  news  be 
good  or  bad.  But  if  you  have  an  hour  to  spare  and 
would  be  pleased  to  spend  it  in  the  garden.  .  .  ." 

Martha  smiled,  nodded,  wheeled  about  and  with 
the  precious  piece  of  paper  on  which  she  had 
scribbled  Tom's  message  clasped  tightly  in  her  hand 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  13 

went  over  a  clean-shaven  lawn  and  along  a  wide, 
tree-shaded  road  to  the  stables.  She  had  never 
ventured  to  break  in  upon  the  almost  religious  rou- 
tine of  that  house  so  early  before  and  knowing  the 
cut  and  dried  ways  of  those  two  old  people  almost 
as  well  as  Albery  did,  appreciated  the  necessity  of 
elimination  without  further  discussion.  There 
was  a  whinny  of  welcome  from  an  old  hunter  with 
a  white  star  between  his  eyes  and  a  series  of  move- 
ments in  a  line  of  loose  boxes.  The  girl  with  the 
soft  voice  and  courageous  hand  had  many  friends 
in  that  spotless  place.  She  would  spend  an  hour 
there  with  delight. 

Ill 

IN  the  room  in  which  the  famous  General  Bar- 
clay Mortimer  was  brought  into  the  world  and, 
eventually,  at  the  ripe  age  of  eighty-four  departed 
from  it,  and  in  which  Judge  William  Mortimer, 
Governor  of  New  York  State,  fought  death  for 
exactly  a  year  before  being  beaten  in  a  contest 
which  is  always  an  unequal  one,  Mr.  Barclay  Morti- 
mer, ex-commodore  of  the  New  York  Yacht  Club, 
was  making  up  for  breakfast. 

Being  now  a  man  of  sixty,  who  had  sailed 
through  a  gorgeous  and  much  to  be  deplored  life 
with  the  face  of  Adonis  and  the  figure  of  Apollo,  it 
goes  without  saying  that  Barclay  Mortimer  had  a 
standing  grievance  against  "  that  damned  Anno 
Domini,"  as  he  called  it,  which  had  laid  relentless 
hands  upon  his  handsome  features  and  perfectly 


14  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

balanced  body.  With  the  pathetic  reluctance  of  a 
woman  who  has  been  a  celebrated  beauty  to  face 
the  sere  and  yellow,  he  made  use  of  every  known 
weapon  with  which  to  disguise  the  brutal  and  dis- 
figuring blows  of  the  implacable  hand  of  time.  His 
dressing  table  was  covered,  therefore,  with  bottles 
whose  mysterious  liquids  were  known  only  to  him- 
self and  his  valet,  —  dyes  and  astringents  and  the 
rest  prepared  by  ingenious  people  who  catered  to 
the  vanity  of  frail  humanity  at  a  profit  of  several 
hundred  per  cent.  If  the  daily  process  of  making 
up  was  long  and  tiresome  its  effect,  in  a  doubtful 
light,  was  to  take  ten  years  off  Mortimer's  appear- 
ance and  give  him  the  supreme  satisfaction  of  say- 
ing to  himself,  as  he  looked  at  his  white-haired  wife 
across  the  breakfast  table,  "  Either,  my  dear  friend, 
she  must  have  snatched  you  out  of  the  cradle  or  you 
are  her  youngest  brother." 

At  the  moment  when  Martha  had  arrived  breath- 
less and  filled  with  a  generous  desire  to  share  her 
joy  with  Bill's  parents,  Barclay  Mortimer  was 
standing  in  front  of  a  pier  glass  dabbing  his  well- 
shaped  mustache  with  an  evil  smelling  liquid  which 
had  been  poured  upon  a  small  sponge.  Crouching 
behind  him  the  faithful  Denham  was  lacing  up  a 
pair  of  stays  which,  in  doing  away  with  a  slight 
rotundity  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  lower  but- 
tons of  the  waistcoat,  gave  the  elderly  victim  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  pouter  pigeon.  The  sunny  brown  of 
hair  which  should  have  been  a  benign  and  woolly 
white  was  a  shade  darker  than  the  mustache,  the 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  15 

color  scheme  of  which  was  to  give  an  effect  of  sun 
bleach.  The  eyebrows  matched  the  hair,  whose 
center  parting  was  continued  down  to  the  nape  of 
the  neck.  The  face  had  been  massaged  first  with  a 
small  electrical  instrument  and  then  with  cream  of 
honey  and  finally  cleaned  off  with  a  lemon  flavored 
wash  mixed  with  alcohol.  Ultimate  powder,  neatly 
applied,  had  been  fanned  away.  A  thousand  dollars 
had  been  paid  to  a  French  beauty  doctor  in  New  York 
so  that  Denham  might  achieve  the  secrets  of  all  the 
art  and  craftiness  of  preservation  and  disguise,  and 
he  performed  his  daily  task  with  infinite  care  and 
affection.  He  had  been  twenty  years  in  the  serv- 
ice of  "  the  old  buck,"  as  he  called  him,  and  it  was 
a  matter  of  personal  pride  to  turn  him  out  looking 
like  an  actor  manager  of  ripe  age  made  up  to  play 
the  part  of  a  leading  juvenile.  The  keen  sense  of 
humor  that  was  possessed  by  them  both  lightened 
the  hours  devoted  to  this  process  of  camouflage. 

Having  risen  at  eight  it  was  ten  o'clock  before 
Mr.  Barclay  Mortimer  regarded  himself  as  finished, 
and  took  a  last  look  in  the  pier  glass  that  stood  be- 
tween the  two  windows  of  a  bedroom  which  was 
the  acme  of  comfort  and  was  filled  with  delightful 
old  pieces  of  Colonial  furniture. 

Tall  and  slight  and  graceful,  dressed  in  a  beauti- 
fully cut  suit  of  Irish  homespun  golf  clothes  which 
gave  out  a  pleasant  reek  of  bog  and  tobacco,  with 
brown  stockings  and  white  shoes  with  brown  leather 
strappings  which  required  the  hand  of  an  artist  to 
clean,  the  old  gentleman  whose  abominable  past 


16  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

gave  him  great  joy  to  contemplate  tucked  a  colored 
handkerchief  into  his  pocket  and  turned  with  a 
smile.  "Congratulations,  Denham,"  he  said,  "I 
feel  fifty-two  and  look  forty-eight.  You  actually 
achieve  what  Canute  attempted." 

"  Thank  you,  Sir,"  replied  Denham,  standing 
back  with  the  air  of  a  portrait  painter.  He  didn't 
know  who  Canute  was,  and  didn't  care.  The  re- 
mark was  a  favorite  one  and  he  understood  that 
it  was  the  last  word  in  praise.  It  meant  that  he 
could  now  retire  to  the  servants'  porch  to  smoke  a 
pipe  and  read  the  morning  paper  with  the  complete 
satisfaction  of  having  done  his  job  for  the  day. 

At  five  minutes  past  ten,  as  usual,  the  old  buck 
left  his  room,  went  jauntily  along  the  wide  corri- 
dor that  was  hung  with  the  full  length  portraits 
of  his  deserving  ancestors,  descended  the  stairs 
humming  an  air  from  "  Sumurun,"  crossed  the  hall 
under  the  disapproving  eyes  of  Mortimers  who  had 
taken  life  with  desperate  seriousness,  and  swung 
into  the  breakfast  porch  to  be  welcomed  by  an  out- 
burst of  song  from  innumerable  canaries  and  an 
enigmatical  smile  from  Mrs.  Barclay  Mortimer. 

The  white  haired  lady,  who  was  three  years 
younger  than  her  husband,  had  been  down,  as  us- 
ual, for  an  hour.  Having  wisely  decided  to  let  na- 
ture alone  and  grow  old  gracefully  she  had  had  an 
hour  to  give  to  the  garden,  that  wonderful  and 
peaceful  old  garden,  and  had  brought  back  with  her 
a  bunch  of  lilies  of  the  valley,  the  most  virginal  and 
modest  of  all  flowers.  A  woman  built  on  noble 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  17 

lines,  tall  and  straight  and  willowy,  there  was  all 
about  her,  despite  her  snowy  hair,  that  essence 
of  loveliness  that  a  beautiful  woman  never  quite 
loses  if  she  is  content  to  leave  well  alone.  She  had 
real  dignity  and  charm  and  kindliness,  a  low  soft 
laugh  in  which  there  was  something  suggestive  of 
the  notes  of  a  harpsichord  and  at  the  tail  end  of  her 
dark  eyes  a  hint  of  ironic  humor.  Especially  about 
her  hands  with  their  long  thin  ringers  and  polished 
nails  was  her  breeding  and  fastidiousness  to  be  de- 
tected. She  permitted  herself  the  use  of  one  inimi- 
table pearl  ring,  around  which  there  were  tender 
memories.  There  would  have  been  no  breakfast  for 
her  if  she  had  known  that  Bill,  the  apple  of  her  eye, 
was  aboard  the  transport  that  was  to  bring  him, 
with  other  members  of  the  Headquarters  staff,  from 
Brest. 

They  met,  these  two,  more  like  people  who  were 
newly  married  than  those  who  had  been  married  and 
almost  wholly  separated  for  thirty-five  years.  Rais- 
ing her  hand  to  his  lips  with  an  air  of  respectful 
admiration  and  courtliness  Mortimer  gave  her  his 
usual  greeting.  "  Good  morning,  Madame.  How 
charming  you  look !  " 

To  which,  with  the  faintest  suggestion  of  amuse- 
ment, she  replied,  "  Good  morning,  Commodore.  I 
return  the  compliment  with  interest." 

And  then  followed  the  inevitable  business, 
watched  with  extreme  sympathy  by  the  silent  Al- 
bery,  of  escorting  her  to  her  chair,  placing  it  for 
her  and  pushing  it  in,  —  all  done  with  the  studied 


18  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

gracefulness  of  old  fashioned  comedy  as  though  be- 
fore an  audience,  —  as  indeed  it  was.  In  addition 
to  the  many  canaries  there  were,  in  that  glassed-in 
breakfast  porch,  a  collection  of  parrots  and  para- 
keets, love  birds  in  large  cages  and  a  tiny  marmoset 
chained  to  a  perch. 

Then  followed  the  first  meal  of  the  day,  during 
which  letters  were  opened  and  commented  upon,  the 
front  pages  of  the  papers  glanced  at  and  discussed, 
the  morning  welcome  extended  to  a  couple  of  ex- 
tremely well-bred  water-spaniels  whose  silky  black 
curls  had  been  carefully  brushed  and  parted.  An 
hour  of  a  day  which  had  no  duties  and  few  occupa- 
tions was  thus  delightfully  killed. 

The  underlying  irony  in  the  comedy  of  this  felici- 
tous scene  would  have  given  immense  joy  to  those 
worldly  people  who  had  known  the  handsome  Bar- 
clay Mortimer  in  the  zenith  of  his  career  as  a  lady 
killer  and  sportsman  and  the  lovely  Lylyth  as  the 
leader  of  New  York  society  on  whose  entrance  to 
her  box  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  the  vast 
audience  had  nearly  risen  to  its  feet. 

An  eccentric  but  very  human  couple  this,  who  had 
been  driven  by  encroaching  years  reluctantly  to 
retire  from  a  world  that  was  full  of  things  to  enjoy 
and  sensations  with  which  to  experiment  and  were 
now  playing  their  parts  sexlessly  at  the  latter  end  of 
a  marriage  which  they  had  never  properly  played  at 
the  beginning  of  it.  They  might  still  have  continued 
separately  on  their  way  to  the  outpost  of  eternity 
had  they  not  been  mutually  bound  by  two  common 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  19 

desires,  —  the  one  to  cultivate  each  other's  acquaint- 
ance in  the  old  house  beloved  by  them  both,  the 
other  to  bask  in  the  smiles  of  Bill,  whom  they 
adored,  delighted  in  and  conspired  to  marry  to  a  girl 
young  and  sweet  enough  to  be  the  mother  of  a  new 
line  of  Mortimers.  To  this  good  end,  —  good,  that 
is,  from  their  own  point  of  view,  —  they  were  the 
last  to  take  into  account  the  rakish  record  of  their 
only  son,  —  they  had  their  eyes  on  Martha  Wain- 
wright.  In  her  they  saw  all  the  makings  of  a  fine 
young  reviver  of  their  honored  but  recently  un- 
cared-for name,  a  girl  born  of  honest  and  scrupu- 
lous parents,  of  responsible  and  sensible  upbring- 
ing, unspoiled  by  wealth  and  fashionable  school- 
ing, who  would  come  to  marriage  with  an  old  fash- 
ioned ecstasy  and  that  keen  sense  of  duty  which 
seems  to  have  gone  out  with  the  puffed  sleeve  and 
the  bustle.  They  divided  this  supreme  ambition  be- 
tween them  and  while  waiting  for  its  fulfillment  trod 
the  little  private  stage  of  their  own  with  all  the  zest 
and  whimsicality  that  hard  living  had  left  to  them. 
Follies  cease  only  with  the  flight  of  youth,  —  and 
sometimes  not  even  then. 

IV 

WHEN  Mrs.  Mortimer  rose  to  say  "  sweet- 
sweet"  to  her  pet  canary  before  going  up  to  her 
boudoir  to  write  her  bi-weekly  letter  to  Bill,  the 
Commodore  lingered  in  the  breakfast  porch. 

Whether  he  was  inspired  to  a  genuine  sentiment 
by  the  glory  of  that  spring  morning,  or  merely 


20  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

grasped  at  an  excuse  to  see  whether  he  had  not 
wholly  forgotten  his  gift  of  saying  delightful  noth- 
ings to  a  woman,  or  felt  the  faint  flicker  of  his  old 
hot  fire  of  amorousness,  no  one  could  have  told  and 
he  did  n't  stop  to  discover.  The  fact  remained  that 
presently  he  placed  himself  in  his  wife's  way  in 
front  of  the  door,  and  put  a  quiver  of  emotion  into 
his  well  modulated  voice. 

"  Lylyth,  my  dear,"  he  said  humbly  and  with 
great  tenderness,  "  let  me  say  for  once  how  greatly 
I  appreciate  the  privilege  of  this  St.  Martin's  sum- 
mer with  you." 

Mrs.  Mortimer  gave  one  of  her  low  soft  laughs. 
This  little  outburst  was  totally  unexpected  and  was 
like  a  speech  to  which  no  cue  had  been  provided. 
It  did  not  surprise  her,  however,  or  more  than 
lightly  touch  one  of  the  easily  reached  spots  of  a 
vanity  that  age  had  not  yet  withered.  He  often 
said  such  things  at  carefully  chosen  moments. 
"My  dear  Barclay,"  she  answered  teasingly,  "I 
have  the  mail  to  catch  and  a  long  letter  to  write. 
Please  may  I  go  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  taking  one  of  her  long  thin 
hands  in  both  his  own  and  holding  it  against  his 
heart,  —  a  trick  that  he  had  often  practised  with  a 
certain  Italian  prima  donna  away  back  in  '89. 
"  No,  no.  Stay  just  for  a  moment.  I  am  moved 
to  speak  sincerely,  and  surely  there  is  enough  room 
for  silence  in  the  grave?  "  He  could  just  see  him- 
self in  an  oval  glass  that  hung  at  the  other  end  of 
the  porch.  His  attitude  pleased  him. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  21 

"  Cut  it  as  short  as  you  can  then.  I  want  to  tell 
Bill  about  the  new  filly  and  write  more  tactful  things 
about  the  future  of  the  family."  She  let  him  see 
that  she  took  his  so-called  sincerity  with  a  pinch  of 
salt,  but  made  no  real  effort  to  go.  She  owned 
that  there  was  something  curiously  intriguing  in 
living  under  the  same  roof  with  a  man  who  had 
frankly  taken  his  pleasures  elsewhere  ever  since  the 
decline  of  their  honeymoon  thirty-five  years  ago. 
It  was  like  standing  in  front  of  a  fire  of  spent  em- 
bers that  was  railed  off  by  a  guard. 

But  Mortimer  was  not  to  be  put  off.  He  had 
breakfasted  well.  He  felt  fifty-two  and  looked 
forty-eight.  The  fight  over  the  formation  of  a 
League  of  Nations  that  was  to  put  an  end  to  fight- 
ing was  almost  over.  Bill  must  soon  be  home 
again.  He  was  well  and  happy.  Under  such  ex- 
cellent conditions  it  seemed  a  pity  not  to  draw  once 
more  upon  the  fountain  of  his  eloquence,  —  even  if 
it  were  shrewdly  understood  and  unappreciated. 
"  My  dear,"  he  went  on,  holding  his  pose,  "  I  know 
that  you  have  much  to  forgive  and  many  things  to 
forget.  I  have  not  been  a  good  husband  to  you. 
Having  seen  you  daily  now  for  several  months  and 
discovered  in  you  a  host  of  lovely  qualities  that 
escaped  me  in  my  riotous  youth,  I  want  to  say  how 
deeply  I  deplore  my  former  blindness  and  how 
greatly  I  desire  to  atone,  now  that  we  have  come  to- 
gether at  last,  for  my  many  omissions." 

"You  speak  like  a  book,  Barclay,"  said  his  wife. 
"If  you  were  always  able  to  command  such  Ian- 


22  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

guage  no  wonder  you  were  such  a  success  with  wo- 
men. Some  of  them  fall  more  easily  to  style  than 
to  brute  force,  —  Juliet  for  instance."  She  laughed 
again  and  drew  aside.  "  There.  Now  you  can  get 
a  better  view  of  yourself  in  the  glass."  It  was  per- 
haps a  little  cruel. 

But  still  Mortimer  was  not  put  off.  It  is  true 
that  for  the  moment  he  was  peeved  at  being  seen 
through  so  quickly,  but  his  irresistible  sense  of  hu- 
mor came  to  the  rescue.  He  echoed  her  laugh,  let 
go  her  hand  and  opened  the  door.  "  Give  my  love 
to  Bill,"  he  said,  "  and  tell  him  that  I  have  lost  four 
pounds  by  depriving  myself  of  butter.  No  wonder 
that  you  were  such  a  success,  Madame.  And  by 
the  way  —  " 

"  Yes  ?  "  She  turned  at  the  door.  There  was  a 
charming  note  of  camaraderie  in  her  voice. 

"  Talking  of  style,  I  have  just  finished  editing  a 
brief  resume  of  my  life  for  the  family  records. 
Shall  I  read  it  to  you  to-night  after  dinner?" 

"  Oh  please,"  she  said.  "  That  will  be  exciting. 
So  much  that  you  have  done  has  only  come  to  me 
in  gossip.  Shall  I  publish  it  after  you  have  gone?  " 

A  shudder  ran  over  Mortimer's  wasted  frame. 
He  hated  to  hear  of  death. 

"  Oh  Lylyth !  "  he  said,  like  a  man  who  had  been 
enjoying  a  bout  of  fencing  and  was  pricked  by  an 
opponent  who  had  removed  the  button  from  his  foil. 

She  threw  out  a  repentant  hand  to  him,  touched 
by  his  obvious  horror.  "  Forgive  me,  Barclay.  It 
was  a  bad  joke,"  and  left  him  alone  with  the  cana- 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  23 

ries,  the  parrots,  the  little  marmoset  and  a  sudden 
mental  picture  of  a  procession  to  the  old  graveyard 
of  his  forbears,  which  made  him  turn  as  cold  as  a 
fish.  He  looked  every  day  of  his  sixty  years. 

V 

BUT  Mrs.  Mortimer's  letter  was  never  to  be  writ- 
ten. 

Emerging  pontifically  from  a  door  in  the  hall 
.Albery  came  forward  and  met  her  as  she  was  about 
to  go  up  to  her  sanctum.  "  Miss  Martha  Wain- 
wright  has  been  waiting  for  an  hour  in  the  stables, 
Madam,"  he  said  as  one  might  make  a  statement 
about  the  weather.  Several  generations  of  butler- 
ship  had  gone  to  the  making  of  his  perfect  lack  of 
interest.  He  was  as  a  matter  of  fact  intensely  curi- 
ous to  know  what  had  brought  Martha  over  with 
that  beacon  burning  in  her  eyes,  and  eager  impa- 
tience had  urged  him  to  much  scathing  and  bitter 
sarcasm  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Why?  "  asked  Mrs.  Mortimer,  sensing  that  the 
girl  had  something  important  to  tell.  The  late 
afternoon  was  her  usual  time  to  come. 

"  I  cannot  say,  I  'm  sure,  Madam.  But  the 
young  lady  seemed  to  be  very  excited,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  the  expression." 

"  Fetch  her  at  once,  —  no.  I  '11  go  myself.  .  .  . 
It 's  Bill,"  she  added  mentally,  as  she  went  out  of  the 
sun-bathed  garden  and  round  the  house  and  across 
the  lawn  to  the  stables,  with  a  quickening  of  the 
pulse.  "  It 's  Bill.  I  know  it  is.  She  must  have 


24  THE   BLUE  ROOM 

been  ordained  to  be  the  one  to  bring  us  news  of  him, 

—  we,  who  have  chosen  her  to  be  his  wife." 
Reaching  the  stables  she  called  with  all  the  voice 

that  her  speed  had  left  her,  —  and  drew  up  short, 
stabbed  by  an  anguished  thought.  It  might  be  bad 
news!  Bill  might  have  come  to  trouble.  The  pa- 
per must  have  had  something  in  it  that  she  had 
missed. 

Martha  heard  the  cry  and  came  out  of  the  warm 
harness  room  that  was  closely  hung  with  bridles 
and  saddles  all  of  which  were  oiled  and  polished. 
She  had  been  standing  there  alone  for  half  an 
hour  with  the  star  of  hope  blinding  her  with  its 
light. 

"  Here  I  am,  Mrs.  Mortimer,"  she  said. 

The  lady  whose  face  had  gone  as  white  as  her  hair 
stood  very  still  and  upright.  If  she  was  to  be  re- 
quired to  meet  a  blow  she  would  take  it  as  she  had 
taken  all  the  others,  —  with  her  chin  up. 

"  It 's  about  Bill,"  she  said. 

With  a  great  struggle  to  show  only  sisterly  joy, 

—  because  her  feelings  as  to  Bill  must  be  hidden 
even  from  the  eyes  of  his  mother,  Martha  handed 
over  the  slip  of  paper  that  vibrated  with  her  kisses. 
"  A  cable  from  Tom.     It  came  early  this  morning. 
I  have  been  waiting  to  show  it  to  you." 

As  Mrs.  Mortimer  read  the  message  everything 
about  her  relaxed.  She  gave  a  little  fluttering  sob 
and  over  her  still  lovely  face  crept  an  expression 
that  was  like  that  of  the  Madonna.  .  .  .  Was  it 
after  all  curious  that  although  her  only  son  had  been 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  25 

born  out  of  love  and  had  turned  out  to  be  a  modern 
edition  of  his  father  he  had  always  been  the  one  su- 
preme factor  of  her  artificial  life,  —  the  apple  of 
her  eye?  .  .  .  "Thank  God,"  she  said.  "We  are 
to  see  him  again."  And  she  put  out  her  hands,  with 
a  peculiar  gravity,  and  drew  the  girl  into  her  arms 
and  kissed  her.  If  all  her  plans  ran  smoothly  and 
she  could  lead  the  harum-scarum  Bill  into  settling 
down  while  he  was  still  under  the  reaction  of  war, 
here  was  the  mother  of  her  grandson. 

But  she  was  startled  to  find  herself  holding  a 
young  thing,  a  moment  ago  so  cool  and  aloof,  whose 
whole  body  shook  with  a  very  tempest  of  tears.  .  .  . 
This  was  not  the  relief  that  came  to  a  sister,  — 
even  to  one  so  affectionate  as  Martha.  Then  it 
must  be  for  Bill.  It  must  mean  that  this  little  girl, 
like  so  many  others  scattered  about  the  earth,  had 
set  Bill  up  in  her  heart  and,  with  something  of  the 
same  love  as  that  of  a  mother,  had  also  spent  those 
long  and  anxious  months  at  the  feet  of  God. 

"  My  darling,"  she  said. 

And  for  many  minutes  these  two  women,  bound 
by  a  tie  that  nothing  could  undo,  remained  in  each 
other's  arms,  in  mutual  thanksgiving. 

At  last  Martha  conquered  herself  and  drew  away. 
No  one  must  share  her  secret.  "  Tom  and  I  have 
always  been  g — great  pals,"  she  said,  catching  her 
breath. 

"  I  know,  my  dear,  I  know." 

"  And  he  's  .  .  .  ,  he  's  been  through  some  of 
the  worst  fighting." 


26  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  I  'm  sure  he  has,  quite  sure." 

"  And  he 's  the  only  son,  you  see,  and  that 
means  s — so  much  to  father  and  mother." 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  And  one  has  had  to  try  to  be  very  brave  all  this 
time  for  their  sake." 

"  I  know." 

"  So  that 's  why  I  c — cried  like  that." 

"Of  course." 

And  in  the  little  silence  that  followed,  the  girl 
earnestly  examined  the  woman's  face  to  see  if  there 
was  the  least  suggestion  of  disbelief  in  her  explana- 
tion, and  the  woman,  who  had  great  sympathy  and 
a  keen  remembrance  of  her  own  heart  as  a  child, 
never  gave  herself  away.  She  too  had  had  a  secret 
and  the  man  had  never  found  it  out.  She  would 
make  it  her  business  to  see,  more  now  than  ever,  that 
Martha  should  be  numbered  among  the  lucky  ones. 
Sooner  or  later  Martha  must  make  some  reference 
to  Bill,  and  she  wondered,  smiling,  in  what  way  she 
would  manage  it. 

"  It 's  just  like  Tom  to  cable  like  that,"  Martha 
went  on,  with  all  her  confidence  back.  "  You  should 
have  seen  how  father  took  it !  " 

"  I  wish  I  had." 

"  He  whirled  me  round  the  room  and  when  he 
rushed  up  to  Mother  the  whole  house  seemed  to 
shake." 

"  I  'm  not  surprised,  my  dear." 

And  then  it  came,  and  in  so  naive  a  way  as  to 
make  Mrs,  Mortimer  want  to  take  the  girl  once 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  27 

more  into  her  arms  and  tell  her  that  the  secret  was 
a  secret  no  longer. 

"  I  suppose  Tom  put  that  in  about  Major  Morti- 
mer so  that  I  might  come  and  tell  you,"  she  said, 
standing  with  wide  eyes  and  a  perfectly  expression- 
less face. 

But  Mrs.  Mortimer  did  not  allow  herself  even  the 
ghost  of  a  smile.  She  lived  up,  in  spite  of  great 
temptation,  to  her  usual  fine  spirit  of  sportsmanship. 
"  I  suppose  he  did,"  she  answered.  "  It  was  ex- 
tremely thoughtful  of  Tom.  Probably  Bill's  own 
cable  has  been  delayed  somewhere."  And  that  was 
what  had  happened. 

"  I  am  glad  to  be  the  one  to  bring  you  such  good 
news,  Mrs.  Mortimer." 

"  So  am  I,  you  dear  thing."  And  one  of  the  long 
thin  fastidious  hands  rested  affectionately  on 
Martha's  little  fair  head.  "  Let  us  go  together  to 
the  Commodore.  It  will  make  him  feel  years 
younger  than  he  does  already." 

And  as  they  went  back  to  the  house  arm  in  arm 
the  new  leaves  on  the  twisted  boughs  of  the  old 
family  sentinels  seemed  to  break  into  applause,  as 
though  they  approved  of  Mrs.  Mortimer's  choice  of 
the  mother  of  a  new  generation.  And  when  the 
old  buck,  from  his  place  on  the  veranda,  saw  the  ap- 
proach of  his  wife  with  a  girl  whose  face  he  could 
not  recognize  at  that  distance,  he  preened  himself, 
gave  a  fluke  to  his  mustache  and  rehearsed  a  sen- 
tence appropriate  to  youth  and  spring. 

In  choosing  Martha  as  the  girl  to  be  Bill's  wife 


28  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

Mrs.  Mortimer  had  told  herself  and  the  Commo- 
dore that  the  only  difficulty  which  faced  them  was  to 
arrange  a  romantic  meeting.  With  the  natural 
conceit  of  a  mother  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  to 
question  the  fact  that  Martha  would  jump  at  Bill. 
Bill  was  Bill  and  no  girl  who  was  n't  blind  and 
dumb  could  possibly  resist  his  attractions.  Good 
Lord,  he  had  had  few  rebuffs  hitherto,  —  the  bad 
boy.  But,  all  the  same,  how  much  easier  the  bring- 
ing of  these  two  together  would  be  now,  with  love 
already  on  one  side.  On  the  other  there  was,  be- 
cause nature  always  stood  by  her  precedents,  and 
the  escape  from  death  was  always  followed  by  a 
desire  to  perpetuate,  a  new  sentiment,  a  hitherto  un- 
required  capacity  for  fatherhood  and  home-life, 
and,  of  course,  the  legal  possession  of  an  adoring 
wife  in  the  first  flush  of  youth.  Mrs.  Mortimer, 
knowing  the  male  species  so  well,  banked  on  that. 
The  question  as  to  whether  it  would  be  fair  or  wise 
to  give  the  girl  a  few  hints  as  to  Bill's  passionate 
interludes  before  she  stood  with  him  at  the  altar, 
and  thus  provide  her  with  the  chance  to  draw  back 
in  the  event  of  disillusion,  had  never  entered  her 
mind.  If  the  unsophisticated  and  romantic  girl 
had  made  Bill  her  hero,  blameless  and  without  re- 
proach, let  him  remain  so.  One  of  her  tenets  had 
always  been  that  into  the  Blue  Room  thou  shalt  not 
look.  And  another  that  a  man's  life  was  his  own 
although  a  woman's  must  belong  wholly  to  the  man 
who  made  her  his  wife. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Mrs.  Mortimer  dated 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  29 

back  to  that  amazing  period  before  woman's  rights 
had  been  brought  forward  to  make  things  more 
difficult. 

VI 

THAT  evening,  at  the  time  when  Martha's  daily 
duties  were  over  and  she  had  gone  to  bed  to  dream 
of  the  man  whose  photograph  was  under  her  pillow, 
Barclay  Mortimer  and  the  white-haired  lady  went 
into  what  was  called  the  morning  room  of  their  very 
proper  house.  It  might  better  have  been  called  the 
all-day  room  because  it  was  here  that  a  long  line  of 
masters  and  mistresses  had  always  gravitated  to 
read  and  talk,  write  letters  and  play  backgammon, 
cribbage  and  whist.  Long  and  narrow,  with  win- 
dows at  both  ends  and  a  large  open  fireplace  opposite 
to  the  arch  that  separated  it  from  the  more  impos- 
ing drawing  room,  it  had  about  it  an  air  of  comfort 
and  relaxation  which  made  an  irresistible  appeal. 
No  ancestors  frowned  down  from  their  faded 
frames,  but  every  inch  of  the  walls  was  covered  with 
a  valuable  and  delightful  collection  of  colored 
prints,  corner  cupboards  filled  with  old  Chelsea  and 
Spode,  and  gleaming  Colonial  cabinets  behind  the 
glass  doors  of  which  stood  lines  of  first  editions. 
The  polished  floor  was  covered  with  the  hooked 
rugs  of  old  New  England,  their  quaint  and  curious 
designs  in  rich  colors  now  dulled  by  time  and  use, 
and  every  one  of  the  numerous  chairs  held  out  stiff 
though  hospitable  arms.  Handmade  fire  screens 
worked  with  beads,  illustrating  Biblical  scenes  or 


30  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

representing  coats  of  arms,  gave  warmth  and  a 
little  fustiness  to  various  corners,  and  the  mantel- 
shelf was  crowded  with  delightfully  ugly  china 
figures  in  Sunday  attitudes,  early  Victorian  orna- 
ments with  long  glass  tears,  and  inimitable  old  snuff 
boxes  which  reeked  with  history.  The  whole  room 
cried  aloud  for  crinolines  and  round  bare  shoulders, 
satin  beflowered  waistcoats,  knee-breeches,  and  the 
aroma  of  rose-leaves  and  hot  toddy. 

At  that  pathetic  time  of  life  when  meals  take  on 
supreme  importance  as  landmarks  in  a  long  unoc- 
cupied day  the  Mortimers  had  dined  well.  A  bottle 
of  Veuve  Cliquot  '06  had  given  the  required  fillip 
to  send  them  through  an  evening  without  the  stimu- 
lation of  guests.  There  was  also  the  excitement  to 
Mortimer  of  reading  aloud  his  carefully  written 
autobiography  and  to  Mrs.  Mortimer  of  listening  to 
a  probably  biased  account  of  a  life  in  which  her 
particular  part  had  begun  and  ended  with  a  honey- 
moon. She  looked  forward  with  interest  and 
amusement  not  only  to  the  references  to  herself 
which  must  certainly  come  into  it  but  to  the  way  in 
which  Barclay  had  smoothed  over  some  of  the 
rather  doubtful  episodes  of  his  one-eyed  and  amo- 
rous career. 

"  Sit  here,  Madame,"  said  Mortimer,  arranging 
a  nest  of  cushions  at  the  head  of  a  mahogany  framed 
sofa.  "  I  shall  need  the  reading  lamp  but  I  will 
tilt  the  shade  so  that  the  light  may  not  tease  your 
eyes."  He  handed  her  to  her  place,  arranged  her 
skirt  about  her  feet,  put  a  cigarette  into  her  long 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  31 

black  holder  and  gave  her  a  light.  He  did  it  all 
with  his  usual  mixture  of  courtesy  and  tenderness 
and  with  the  air,  which  gave  Mrs.  Mortimer  agonies 
of  repressed  amusement,  of  waiting  upon  someone 
old  enough  to  be  his  mother. 

"  I  don't  need  these  glasses,"  he  said,  putting 
them  on,  "  but  the  light  is  faulty  and  my  handwrit- 
ing a  little  careless."  He  made  the  apology  more 
to  himself  than  to  his  wife.  He  regarded  this  aid 
to  failing  sight  with  considerable  distaste.  Then 
he  mounted  a  carefully  chosen  cigar  in  a  meer- 
schaum holder,  pushed  a  chair  a  little  nearer  to  the 
reading  lamp,  and  seated  himself  with  his  manuscript 
on  his  knees.  Anno  Domini  must  have  chuckled  to 
see  him,  in  his  rather  too  tight  dinner  jacket  and 
all  the  camouflage  of  Denham's  numerous  bottles. 
He  might  have  looked  older  but  he  certainly  would 
have  been  a  less  unreal  figure  with  white  hair  and 
mustache.  As  it  was  he  bore  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  one  of  those  wax  figures  of  dead  celebrities 
before  which  one  pauses  for  a  moment  with  a  queer 
self-consciousness  as  though  fearing  to  intrude. 

"  It 's  the  custom  of  the  male  members  of  your 
family  to  write  the  story  of  their  lives  for  the  pri- 
vate use  of  their  children,  I  believe?"  asked  Mrs. 
Mortimer. 

"Yes,  and  not  a  bad  idea  either.  It  insures  in- 
accuracy and  makes  us  quite  certain  of  the  admira- 
tion of  those  who  follow  us.  I  'm  afraid  mine 
won't  make  such  inspiring  reading  as  the  rest, 
though,"  His  gleeful  chuckle  contradicted  the  note 


32  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

of  contrition  that  he  put  into  his  voice.  "  Bill  will 
enjoy  it.  I'm  sure  of  that,  —  and  so  will  you,  I 
hope." 

"  Does  n't  that  rather  depend  on  what  you  've 
written  about  me  ?  " 

Mortimer  gave  her  a  little  bow.  "  I  could  write 
nothing  about  you  that  had  n't  in  it  the  deepest  ad- 
miration and  respect,  Madame." 

"  Well,  I  'm  most  comfortable  and  most  curious. 
Please  begin." 

Like  a  professional  pianist,  hired  for  a  tea  fight, 
who,  after  trying  the  instrument,  places  her  hand- 
kerchief and  proceeds  to  take  off  her  bracelets, 
Mortimer  looked  up  from  the  first  page.  "  You 
must  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  the  rather  pedantic 
style  is  in  keeping  with  other  such  documents  and 
it  is  written  in  the  third  person  according  to  prece- 
dent." 

"  Delightful." 

He  touched  the  shade,  drew  an  ash  tray  nearer, 
put  his  fingers  to  his  tie,  and  cleared  his  throat.  He 
was  about  to  have  a  most  enjoyable  evening. 
" '  Barclay  Mortimer  the  third,'  "  he  began,  "  '  was 
born  to  William  and  Maria  Coveney  Mortimer  at 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  27  of  October 
18  —  '  "  the  rest  he  swallowed.  It  left  a  nasty  taste. 
' '  A  bright  and  remarkably  attractive  child,  he  not 
only  received  the  finest  education  that  his  country 
could  give  but  all  the  good  influences  of  a  home 
dominated  by  noble  and  God-fearing  parents ! '  " 
He  turned  over  a  dozen  pages  and  shot  out  a  smile. 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  33 

"  I  '11  spare  you  all  the  details  of  my  life  and  exploits 
at  a  preparatory  school  and  Yale,  —  very  enthrall- 
ing, and  come  to  the  time  when  I  began  to  count." 

Mrs.  Mortimer  nodded.  That  meant  her  en- 
trance into  the  story. 

"'At  the  age  of  twenty-four,  he  found  himself, 
upon  the  lamented  death  of  his  father,  in  possession 
of  the  ancestral  house  in  Westchester,  a  stable  full 
of  horses,  four  old  road  coaches  which  had  fre- 
quently rumbled  over  the  English  macadam  of  Pic- 
cadilly and  Trafalgar  Square  on  the  way  to 
Brighton  and  to  Dover,  the  fine  acres  of  park  and 
farmland  over  which  at  various  times  many  of  the 
celebrated  characters  of  American  history  had  gal- 
loped, and  a  very  considerable  fortune.  A  wealthy, 
high-spirited  and  uncommonly  handsome  young 
man,  determined  to  wring  out  of  life  everything 
that  it  had  to  give,  young  Mortimer  immediately 
followed  the  example  of  those  whose  name  he  bore 
by  making  an  early  marriage.' ': 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer,  her  mind  running 
back  to  that  distant  year  when  she  had  looked  and 
felt  as  Martha  Wainwright  did  to-day.  It  was  like 
the  echo  of  a  dream. 

" '  His  beloved  mother,  the  reluctant  dowager,  re- 
tired to  the  smaller  house  on  the  southwest  edge 
of  the  estate  and  brought  forward  the  beautiful  Ly- 
lyth  Pellew,  whose  family,  Anglo-Saxon  like  that  of 
the  Mortimers,  had  settled  about  the  same  period  in 
the  adjoining  state  of  Connecticut.' ' 

A  murmur  came   from  the  sofa.     "  Poor  little 


34  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

soul,  with  long  legs  and  long  ringlets,  a  broken  ro- 
mance, and  less  knowledge  of  men  and  life  than  a 
newly  fledged  bird." 

His  deaf  ear  was  towards  his  wife  and  so  Morti- 
mer missed  these  words.  "  The  next  few  sentences 
I  submit  to  your  revision  if  you  consider  it  neces- 
sary," he  said,  "  but  I  will  read  them  as  written." 

Mrs.  Mortimer  waved  her  hand.  She  had  for- 
gotten the  name  of  the  boy  who  had  not  returned 
her  love  and  which  like  a  worm  in  the  bud  had  eaten 
her  damask  cheek.  She  had  also  forgotten  the 
exact  quotation,  but  she  remembered  the  spirit  in 
which  she  had  submitted,  with  the  docility  of  her 
time,  to  be  "  brought  forward." 

" '  Having  no  one  else  in  his  mind,  and  being 
anxious  to  conform  to  the  established  rule,  young 
Mortimer  quickly  led  this  very  suitable  young  lady 
to  the  altar;  whereupon,  having  performed  their 
respective  duties  by  the  family  after  a  most  discon- 
certing honeymoon  under  the  roof  of  the  old  house 
and  the  eyes  of  numerous  ancestors,  the  young 
couple  felt  the  need  of  a  change  of  scene.  Mrs. 
Mortimer  went  to  New  York  to  stay  with  relatives 
in  Washington  Square  and  Barclay  took  it  into  his 
head  to  visit  his  connections  in  England  and  hunt 
with  the  Quorn  and  the  Bicester  .  .  .  .'  May  I 
leave  it  like  that  ?  " 

"  How  else  ?  It  seems  to  me  to  be  a  masterpiece 
of  tactfulness,  a  gem  of  the  art  of  elimination." 
But  into  the  mind  of  the  white-haired  lady  crowded 
memories  of  a  distressingly  unsophisticated  girl,  a 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  35 

man  of  urgent  desires,  and  a  locked  door,  after 
an  outburst  of  revolt.  .  .  .  How  good  had  been 
the  independence  and  the  freedom  of  that  metro- 
politan house  and  the  kindness  of  those  dear  gay 
people  who  had  introduced  her  to  the  life  of  New 
York. 

'  Then  occurred  the  first  of  those  affairs  of  the 
heart  which  this  brief  narrative  must  regretfully 
contain,'  "  read  the  Commodore,  smiling  broadly  at 
the  recollection  of  the  amusement  he  had  derived 
from  throwing  in  the  word  regretfully.  "  '  Young 
Mortimer  met  and  fell  madly  in  love  with  Diana 
Conclarty,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Portrush,  and 
for  a  time,  it  must  be  said,  forgot  the  beautiful  ties 
of  home  under  the  emotion  of  an  episode  to  which 
only  the  flaming  pen  of  a  great  poet  could  do  justice 
or  the  weighty  diatribes  of  a  great  judge  sufficiently 
condemn '  .  .  .  .  That 's  pretty  well  put,  I  flatter 
myself,"  he  added,  looking  up. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  laughed.  "  Brilliant,"  she  said. 
"And  so  Diana  Conclarty  was  the  first,  was  she? 
Tell  me  about  her." 

"  Red  hair,  a  skin  like  cream,  the  spirit  of  an  un- 
broken colt,  the  physical  daring  of  a  man,  the  tem- 
per of  the  devil  and  moments  of  angelic  clemency. 
Hey,  what  a  life  she  led  me,  —  that  girl!  She 
caught  me  when  I  was  just  trying  my  wings  and 
left  me  an  experienced  flyer.  The  last  time  I  saw 
her  she  was  in  Red  Cross  uniform  and  the  pride  and 
grief  of  having  given  three  sons  to  the  great  sacri- 
fice was  stamped  upon  her  face."  He  raised  his 


36  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

hand  to  his  forehead  in  salute  and  swallowed  a 
lump  that  came  into  his  throat.  Like  all  supremely 
selfish  men  he  could  easily  afford  to  indulge  in 
theoretical  kindness  and  sentiment. 

"  Poor  brave  soul,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer,  with  her 
eyes  on,  a  framed  photograph  of  Bill. 

"  '  Young  Barclay's  return  to  Westchester  was 
due  to  an  impending  event  of  supreme  importance 
to  the  future  of  his  family.  He  arrived  in  time  to 
pace  the  wide  veranda  of  the  old  house  to  wait  with 
strange  feelings  for  the  appearance  of  the  doctor  to 
murmur  into  his  ear  one  or  other  of  the  two  words 
"boy"  or  "girl."'" 

"  It  was  '  boy ',"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer,  throwing 
a  kiss  to  the  tall  figure  in  khaki. 

"  Yes,  thank  God,  it  was  '  boy ',  and  thank  God 
again  that  that  boy  is  on  his  way  to  us  now.  .  .  . 
*  It  goes  without  saying  that  the  proud  and  happy 
father  stayed  long  enough  in  the  place  of  his  own 
birth  to  add  his  decorative  and  debonair  figure  to 
the  little  procession  that  eventually  wound  its  way 
to  the  old  Episcopalian  Church  in  the  village  to  the 
christening  ceremony  of  his  son  and  heir.' ' 

Mrs.  Mortimer  pressed  her  handkerchief  sur- 
reptitiously to  her  eyes.  But  the  Commodore  had 
labored  to  awaken  this  emotion  and  paused  delib- 
erately, very  much  gratified.  Mrs.  Mortimer  saw 
all  this  and  laughed  away  her  tears.  "  Forgive  the 
interruption,  Barclay,"  she  said. 

"  Not  at  all,  Madame.  I  am  so  glad  to  help  you 
to  a  pleasant  evening.  *  After  which/  "  he  went  on, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  37 

with  more  gusto  than  ever,  "  '  a  friendly  discussion 
was  held  between  the  husband  and  the  wife,  who  had 
by  this  time  achieved  considerable  poise  and  a  very 
direct  vocabulary  from  the  broadening  influences 
of  New  York,  and  Barclay  Mortimer  took  flight 
once  more,  this  time  to  France,  which  became  the 
scene  of  his  second  great  passion.' ' 

"  What  resilience,  my  dear  Barclay !  " 

"  '  The  dark-haired  Bolaire,  the  young  come- 
dienne who  drew  all  Paris  to  the  Varietes  to  see  her 
in  "La  Femme  du  Monsieur  Boc",  held  him  until 
she  saw  her  way  to  permanency  and  the  solid  bour- 
geoisism  for  which  her  soul  had  always  pined  by 
marrying  the  proprietor  of  the  Hotel  du  Chariot 
d'or  at  Boulogne.'  " 

"  H'm,  how  curious." 

"  No,  she  came  from  Brittany.  Thrift  and  cau- 
tion were  in  her  blood.  .  .  .  '  Whereupon,  the 
temporarily  wounded  and  disillusioned  Barclay  re- 
turned once  more  to  Westchester,  filled  with  an 
overwhelming  desire  to  put  young  Bill  upon  a  pony 
and  take  a  hand  in  teaching  him  the  ways  of  a 
gentleman.  It  may  be  added  that  he  hoped  at  the 
same  time  to  gain  comfort  and  consolation  at  the 
hands  of  his  wife  and  plant  something  more  fruit- 
ful in  the  earth  than  wild  oats.  He  found  that, 
during  this  absence  of  several  years,  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer had  developed  into  one  of  the  personalities  of 
New  York  and  was  the  undisputed  leader  of  the 
most  exclusive  set  in  the  City,  a  vivid  and  beautiful 
young  woman  whose  doings  and  sayings  were 


I 

38  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

chronicled  in  the  newspapers  and  whose  house  in 
Fifth  Avenue  was  the  center  of  attraction.' ' 

"  Thank  you,  Barclay.  I  could  n't  have  written 
that  better  myself." 

"  Yes,  but  wait  a  minute.  Here  follows  a  para- 
graph which  you  may  wish  to  take  out  and  of  course 
I  shall  bow  to  your  decision." 

"What  is  it?" 

He  read  again.  "  '  He  was,  however,  somewhat 
piqued  to  find  that  she  had  not  been  altogether  in- 
consolable at  his  long  and  selfish  absence  and  had, 
indeed,  established  an  interest  which  made  life  very 
desirable  and  helped  her  to  pass  her  grass-widow- 
hood without  bitterness.'  .  .  .  Shall  that  stand  ?" 

"  Word  for  word,  my  dear  Barclay.  It 's  per- 
fectly delicious." 

"  '  The  death  of  his  mother  at  this  period  of  his 
life,'  "  he  went  on,  "  *  held  Mortimer  to  America 
longer  than  he  desired  to  remain.  He  was  how- 
ever bound  to  confess  that  the  sight  of  his  boy,  the 
very  spit  of  himself,  touched  him  on  that  side  of 
his  nature  which  circumstances  had  not  permitted 
him  to  develop.  It  was  then  that  the  seeds  were 
sown  of  the  deep  affection  which  ever  afterwards 
existed  between  father  and  son.  For  the  first  time 
the  Mortimers  made  several  appearances  together 
in  society  to  everybody's  surprise,  agreed  again  to 
differ  on  nearly  every  subject  which  came  up  for 
discussion  and  separated  once  more.  This  time 
Mortimer  spread  his  wings  for  Italy.  .  .  .'" 

"  Italy,  —  ah  yes.     The  Villa  Fiora.     Someone 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  39 

sent  Bill  a  series  of  very  pretty  water-color  sketches 
of  what  seemed  to  be  a  most  romantic  spot." 

There  came  a  deep  sigh  followed  by  a  reminiscent 
laugh.  " '  Here  he  very  quickly  found  himself  in 
the  midst  of  an  intrigue  which  lasted  longer  than  any 
of  the  others.  The  discretion  which  had  to  be  ex- 
ercised with  this  dear  lady  taught  him  most  of  the 
rules  of  diplomacy  which  afterwards  stood  him  in 
such  good  stead.  Eventually  the  little  affair  was 
discovered,  there  was  a  fracas,  Mortimer  was  flung 
from  a  balcony,  and  as  soon  as  his  broken  arm  was 
mended,  took  up  his  residence  in  London.' ' 

"  Was  she  worth  a  broken  arm  ?  " 

Mortimer  nodded  and  closed  his  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment. "  She  was  worth  breaking  everything  for, 
including  the  Commandments.  A  rare  and  noble 
character,  Lylyth,  with  a  deep  streak  of  piety." 

"Piety!" 

"  Paradoxically  enough  perhaps,  yes,  —  though 
I  ought  to  say  that  she  kept  it  well  in  the  back- 
ground. As  beautiful  as  her  sunny  country,  she 
died  of  a  broken  heart  and  an  attack  of  pleurisy. 
God  rest  her  sweet  soul !  " 

"  She  certainly  had  a  nice  taste  for  drawing," 
said  Mrs.  Mortimer,  in  a  perfectly  even  voice. 
"  We  missed  the  sketches  very  much." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mortimer,  who  felt  that  these 
pictures  would  never  have  been  painted  had  he  not 
been  the  Paolo  to  this  Francesca.  "And  now  I 
think  that  a  little  light  refreshment  has  been  earned 
by  us  both  and  we  will  raise  our  glasses  in  silent 


40  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

tribute  to  the  past  that  we  have  unearthed  to-night. 
How  true  it  is  that  nothing  gives  to  people  of  ripe 
age  such  exquisite  pleasure  as  to  gloat  over  the 
misdeeds  of  their  youth !  " 

He  rose  and  made  a  graceful  line  for  the  tray 
which  Albery  had  placed  upon  an  octagonal  table. 

And  as  Mrs.  Mortimer  watched  this  man  of 
transparent  egotism  who  took  such  an  artistic  pleas- 
ure in  placing  himself  in  the  spotlight,  she  told  her- 
self that  she  regretted  less  than  ever  having  been 
"  brought  forward "  all  those  years  ago,  because 
Bill  was  her  compensation,  —  Bill  who  was  at  that 
moment  aboard  the  ship  that  was  heading  for  home, 
—  and  Martha  Wainwright.  History  repeats  itself 
and  this  girl  also  would  presently  be  brought  for- 
ward, but  not  as  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  been.  Love 
would  make  the  story  a  very  different  one. 

With  marvelously  steady  hands  Mortimer 
brought  back  two  liqueur  glasses  of  green  Char- 
treuse and  his  wife  joined  him  in  drinking  to  many 
youthful  misdeeds  which  provided  her  too  with 
precious  memories. 

VII 

AFTER  which,  with  a  lubricated  throat,  the  old 
man  continued  to  enjoy  himself. 

" '  Mortimer  then  commenced  to  develop  the 
sporting  instinct  of  his  many-sided  character.  He 
had  the  leisure  to  do  so  because  he  was  for  the  mo- 
ment free  of  women.  He  became  a  famous 
swordsman,  a  distinguished  whip,  a  well-known 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  41 

polo-player  and  the  owner  of  a  yacht  which  in  those 
days  was  called  palatial  by  the  little  scribblers  of 
society  chit-chat.  He  owned  and  sometimes  drove 
the  road  coach  which  left  London  every  day  for 
Guilford  and  bought  a  house  in  Mayfair  to  which 
the  young  aristocracy  of  England  came  at  all  times. 
He  was  ami  intime  in  the  most  exclusive  circles  and 
his  colors  were  frequently  to  be  seen  in  the  races  for 
which  he  entered  his  horses.  Then  came  the  great 
scandal  of  1899 

"  I   was   looking   forward   to  that,"   said   Mrs. 
Mortimer.     "  It  seemed  to  be  a  little  overdue." 

She  was  thanked  by  a  roguish  glance.  .  .  . 
"'When  Colonel  Alistair  McDuff  brought  his  in- 
famous action  for  divorce  against  Lady  Doreen  and 
cited  Barclay  Mortimer  as  co-respondent.  It  occu- 
pied the  attention  of  the  courts  when  the  London 
season  was  at  its  height.  The  case  was  tried  before 
Mr.  Justice  Dearborn,  the  most  advertised  counsel 
took  it  in  hand  and  the  names  of  the  witnesses  made 
a  list  which  would  have  been  epooh-making  even 
when  attached  to  a  charity  performance  under  the 
patronage  of  Royalty.  Lady  Doreen  put  up  a  most 
courageous  and  witty  defense.  Her  cross-exami- 
nation, during  which  she  lashed  the  prosecuting 
counsel  with  her  well-known  sarcasm,  sent  London 
into  fits  of  laughter.  Mortimer  also,  of  course, 
denied  the  soft  impeachment  and  being  at  that  time 
in  the  very  prime  of  his  looks  was  the  object  of 
much  admiration.  He  worked  off  one  or  two  epi- 
grammatic remarks  which  delighted  the  cynics  and 


42  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

the  intellectuals  and  caused  the  Victorians  to  shiver 
in  their  side-spring  boots.  But  his  record  as  a  heart 
breaker  was  ranged  against  him  and  the  evidence 
was  too  strong  to  refute.  The  verdict  was  in 
favor  of  the  Colonel  who  obtained  a  decree  nisi 
with  the  custody  of  the  child.  Lady  Doreen,  whose 
position  had  hitherto  been  absolutely  secure,  sank 
down  to  that  indescribable  set  in  semi-society  which 
included  all  the  doubtfuls  and  the  also-rans,  while 
Mortimer  with  his  faithful  Denham  found  it  ad- 
visable to  dig  up  his  European  roots  and  return  to 
his  native  land.' ' 

"  To  my  intense  regret  I  missed  all  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Mortimer.  "  The  New  York  papers  con- 
tented themselves  with  only  the  briefest  accounts." 

"  Luckily  I  have  the  full  reports  in  one  of  my 
scrap-books.  I  will  show  them  to  you." 

"  Please  do.  I  find  the  new  novels  very  anae- 
mic." 

Mortimer  was  flattered,  bowed  his  acknowledg- 
ments and  returned  to  his  pages.  "  '  By  that  time 
Bill  was  a  strapping  lad  of  fifteen,  who  had  inher- 
ited much  of  his  father's  good  looks  and  manners. 
He  was  the  ringleader  of  all  the  trouble  at  Hotch- 
kiss.  Mrs.  Mortimer,  at  the  zenith  of  her  loveli- 
ness, continued  to  conduct  herself  with  such  skill 
and  discretion  that  her  numerous  intrigues  entirely 
escaped  discussion.' ' 

"I  object  to  the  word  'numerous,'  Barclay! 
Oblige  me  by  making  it  'occasional.' ' 

"With  pleasure,"    He  did  so,    " '  During  the 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  43 

period  that  followed  Mortimer  was  in  New  York 
when  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  in  the  country  and  in  the 
country  when  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  in  New  York. 
They  met  from  time  to  time,  of  course,  and  having 
so  amicably  agreed  to  differ  on  every  conceivable 
subject  that  quarreling  was  out  of  the  question,  be- 
came excellent  friends.  It  was  arranged  that  Bill 
should  spend  the  summer  holidays  with  his  father 
and  the  winter  holidays  with  his  mother.  The 
yacht,  the  lolanthe,  was  brought  into  American  wa- 
ters and  father  and  son  enjoyed  many  cruises  to- 
gether. It  was  during  this  year  that  Barclay  Morti- 
mer revived  the  interest  in  coaching  and  to  the  joy 
of  democracy  frequently  tooled  a  spanking  team  of 
bays  up  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon. With  Bill  seated  at  his  side  with  a  small  edi- 
tion of  his  father's  white  tall  hat  cocked  over  his 
right  eye  they  made  a  noticeable  picture/  ' 

"  And  away  went  the  last  shreds  of  my  maternal 
influence,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer. 

"  And  Bill  became  a  gentleman  under  mine,"  said 
his  father  proudly.  "  *  The  backwash  of  the  Lon- 
don scandal  followed  Mortimer  to  New  York,  and 
as  the  scrupulous  families  failed  to  include  him  in 
their  invitations,  he  became  a  patron  of  the  drama. 
It  was  generally  said  that  the  magnet  which  drew 
him  nightly  to  the  stage  box  of  Wallack's  Theatre 
was  a  blond  small  person  who  called  herself  Lorna 
Doone.  Be  that  as  it  may,  this  return  to  the  thrall- 
dom  of  femininity  did  nothing  to  disturb  the  beauti- 
ful friendship  which  had  sprung  up  between  Morti- 


44  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

mer  and  his  son,  and  to  the  credit  of  the  older  man 
it  must  be  said  that  he  endeavored  very  earnestly 
to  inculcate  into  his  son  the  principle  of  "  Do  what 
I  say  but  for  God's  sake  don't  do  what  I  do." 

"  Which  did  nothing  but  appeal  irresistibly  to  my 
poor  dear  Bill's  terribly  keen  sense  of  humor,"  put 
in  Mrs.  Mortimer,  now  well  into  her  fourth  ciga- 
rette. 

"  Too  true,"  said  Mortimer,  with  a  chuckle. 
" '  Then  followed  a  time  during  which  Mortimer, 
having  discovered  Europe,  became  the  new  Colum- 
bus of  America.  He  spent  one  winter  in  Flor- 
ida aboard  the  lolanthe,  and  revelled  in  the  gor- 
geous beauty  of  its  golden  sunsets  and  sunrises, — 
with  Lorna  Doone.  He  was  carried  away  with  en- 
thusiasm for  California  where  he  wandered  among 
the  old  Missions  —  with  Lorna  Doone.  Colorado 
left  him  speechless  and  he  was  greatly  fascinated 
with  Hawaii  where — with  Lorna  Doone — the  pe- 
culiar sadness  of  the  native  music  always  turned  his 
thoughts  to  Bill,  around  whom  he  began  building 
up  many  pet  ambitions.  It  was  perhaps  a  sign  of 
middle  age  that  he  found  himself  dwelling  on  the 
future  of  his  only  son  with  a  growing  desire  that  he 
should  take  the  name  of  Mortimer  back  into  useful- 
ness and  carry  on  the  tradition  of  his  ancestors  in  a 
manner  which  he  himself  had  failed  to  do,  and  his 
letters  to  Bill  on  his  sentimental  journey  through  his 
hitherto  unexplored  native  land  were  perfect  mas- 
terpieces of  parental  excellence.  .  .  .'  " 

"Which,"    interrupted    Mrs.    Mortimer    again, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  45 

"  when  read  to  his  Fidus  Achates  awoke  Homeric 
laughter."  She  could  n't  resist  the  temptation  to 
work  in  this  sentence  in  the  sort  of  language  so  dear 
and  so  easy  to  the  old  buck. 

"  How  sad !  ...  'In  1902  he  escorted  Bill  to 
Yale,  spent  one  emotional  evening  among  the  mem- 
ories of  his  own  student  days,  endeavored  to  instill 
into  the  mind  of  his  son  the  lofty  ambitions  which 
had  inspired  the  boy's  grandfather  and  great-grand- 
father, and  before  sailing  for  Europe  settled  a  nice 
little  pension  upon  his  most  recent  companion  whose 
new  first  night  he  witnessed  in  New  York.  There 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Charles  Frohman 
"  present "  Miss  Lorna  Doone  in  a  play  called 
"  Goodbye  Forever."  '  " 

"  How  appropriate !  "  said  Mrs.  Mortimer. 

"  I  saw  to  that,  Madame.  ...  '  Then  followed 
several  years  during  which  this  incorrigible  philan- 
derer devoted  himself  almost  wholly  to  racing. 
He  established  himself  at  Epsom,  formed  a  stable 
expertly  selected  from  the  best  brood  mares  of  the 
time  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  winning  the  Grand 
National  in  1904  with  Lysistrata  and  the  Derby  with 
Tacitus.  It  was  at  his  father's  Queen  Anne  house 
at  the  edge  of  the  Downs  that  Bill  made  his  debut 
as  a  gentleman  rider  and  as  a  man  of  sentiment. 
The  trainer's  daughter,  Lilly  Hastings  .  .  .' ' 

"  Lilly  Hastings !     So  she  was  the  first !  " 

11 '.  .  .  .  was  very  fair  with  great  blue  eyes 
and  a  mouth  like  a  rosebudj  and  the  charming  idyl 
that  was  enacted  in  and  around  that  old  Surrey 


46  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

place,  which  had  belonged  to  one  of  the  partners 
in  Coutts's  bank,  proved  to  Mortimer  finally,  though 
reluctantly,  that  his  son  was  a  true  chip  of  the  old 
block.  The  boy  was  instantly  sent  back  to  Yale, 
and  the  admonition  that  he  took  with  him  would 
have  done  credit  to  the  elder  Chesterfield.  Hope 
springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast,  however,  and 
Mortimer,  not  yet  old  Mortimer  by  any  means, 
started  again  that  series  of  letters  to  his  boy  which 
unfortunately  the  world  will  never  see,  but  which, 
if  they  had  been  published  in  volume  form,  must 
have  become  the  text  book  for  the  guidance  of 
youth.  They  were  filled  with  wisdom  and  sanity, 
kindliness  and  fine  thoughts.'  ' 

"  You  don't  exaggerate,  Barclay.  Bill  showed 
me  some  of  them.  They  were  masterpieces  of  style 
and  sentiment.  One  of  them  almost  spoilt  a  little 
affair  that  I  was  about  to  undertake,  —  it  was  so 
filled  with  religious  fervor." 

"  You  're  very  generous,  my  dear  Lylyth.  And 
I  am  all  the  more  happy  to  ask  you  to  listen  to  the 
following  tribute.  *  Mrs.  Mortimer,  now  in  her 
forty-second  year,  came  out  of  a  rest  cure  in  time 
to  be  present  in  the  royal  enclosure  at  Epsom  to  see 
her  husband  lead  in  Tacitus.  The  drama  of  that 
great  moment,  when  Mortimer  carried  off  the  blue 
ribbon  of  racing,  was  enhanced  by  the  sight  of  his 
wife,  slim  and  sweet  and  looking  not  a  day  over 
thirty,  with  the  six  foot  Bill  at  her  side.  Morti- 
mer would  have  fallen  in  love  with  her  but  for  the 
fact  that  among  the  party  of  friends  who  had  come 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  47 

over  with  her  to  London  was  young  Alton  Gram- 
ercy,  who  seemed  to  have  the  right  to  carry  his  wife's 
vanity  bag.  Nevertheless,  Old  Court  was  thrown 
open  to  Mrs.  Mortimer  and  her  friends,  and  Bill 
renewed  his  riding.  Sadly  enough  Lilly  Hastings 
had  become  Mrs.  Simpkins  with  several  young 
Simpkinses,  but  Bill's  roving  eyes  were  consoled  by 
the  flower-faced  daughter  of  a  near-by  squire,  and 
Mortimer  began  to  see  that  his  favorite  dream  was 
less  and  less  likely  to  be  realized.  Bill  was  evi- 
dently not  going  to  be  added  to  the  family  list  of 
gJeat  national  characters.' ' 

"  We  '11  see  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer 
to  herself. 

" '  Only  once  between  that  time  and  1914  did  any- 
thing unusual  break  the  delightful  equability  of  the 
life  of  Barclay  Mortimer.  In  the  autumn  of  1909, 
by  which  time  Barclay  was  fifty  years  of  age,  the 
hand  of  fate,  which  had  so  constantly  left  him  alone, 
was  stretched  his  way,  and  just  to  show  that,  after 
all,  there  is  little  favoritism  in  the  world,  it  caught 
our  good  friend  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  flung 
him  on  to  the  small  of  his  back.  Appendicitis  was 
the  cause  of  it.  An  immediate  operation  was  nec- 
essary, and  for  some  days  Mortimer  trembled  on 
the  verge  of  death.  At  that  time  he  was  living  in 
a  very  beautiful  house  in  the  Avenue  Wagram, 
Paris.  Bill  was  in  London,  having  taken  over  his 
father's  racing  stable,  and  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  in 
Italy  pursuing  the  curious  policy  of  standing  in  the 
footprints  of  saints.' " 


48  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  Not  at  all  curious.  I  was  just  at  the  age  when 
sinners  begin  to  repent  because  sinning  has  passed 
them  by!" 

Mortimer  laughed  and  sighed  and  continued. 
"  '  Telegrams  were  sent  to  them  and  they  rushed 
to  the  bedside  of  one  who  had  hitherto  escaped  all 
the  ordinary  forms  of  punishment  which  humanity 
generally  gets  when  it  asks  for  it  and  sometimes 
when  it  does  n't.  While  the  angel  of  death  hovered 
over  that  house,  quietly  and  indifferently  waiting 
for  orders,  the  mother  and  son  watched  at  the  bed- 
side, —  Bill,  who  adored  his  father  and  treated  him 
more  like  a  boon  companion  than  a  parent,  with  the 
first  prayer  in  his  heart  that  had  been  there  for 
many  and  many  a  year,  and  Lylyth,  still  beautiful 
and  still  fighting  Anno  Domini  with  every  conceiv- 
able trick  that  is  known  to  beauty  doctors,  with  a 
certain  small  thrill  of  emotion  which  came  to  her  at 
the  sight  of  the  man  on  his  back  who  had  always 
stood  so  triumphantly  on  his  feet.' ' 

He  was  obliged  to  stop  for  a  moment.  The 
tragedy  and  pathos  of  all  this  moved  him  almost  to 
tears.  Also  he  was  a  little  puffed. 

During  the  little  pause,  not  unwelcome,  the  white- 
haired  lady  sent  her  thoughts  back  to  that  absurd 
bedroom  with  its  painted  furniture  and  cupid  cov- 
ered ceiling  and  the  terror-stricken  man  with  several 
days'  growth  of  red  and  gray  beard  on  his  usually 
spotless  chin,  who  was  so  fearful  of  death. 

'  The    natural    resilience    which    had    carried 
Mortimer  through  all  his  adventures  came  to  his 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  49 

rescue  once  more.  He  did  death  out  of  a  new  vic- 
tim, made  a  wonderful  recovery,  tightened  the 
bonds  which  existed  between  himself  and  his  son 
by  several  weeks  of  the  closest  intercourse  and  dis- 
covered many  charming  characteristics  in  his  wife 
which  he  had  not  taken  the  trouble  hitherto  to  find 
out.  They  were  good  weeks,  those  in  that  Paris 
house,  and  anyone  seeing  those  three  together  as 
they  drove  out  on  fine  evenings  to  dine  at  the  Casino 
at  Enghien  would  have  imagined  that  the  greatest 
devotion  existed  between  them.  Mortimer  would 
have  been  very  happy  to  have  continued  this  rela- 
tionship into  the  future  and  have  become  domestic 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life.' ' 

"I  wonder!" 

"  Yes,  yes,  it 's  true,  Madame,  on  my  oath.  .  .  . 
'  He  was  even  filled  with  a  warm  desire  to  dig  up  his 
European  roots  permanently  and  return  with  his 
wife  to  the  old  house  in  Westchester,  but  when  he 
broached  the  subject  to  her  and  was  told  with  a 
charming  smile  that  there  was  another  inter- 
est 

"  The  last,  the  very,  very  last !  " 

"'....  he  bowed  and  laughed  and  said  au  re- 
voir,  escorted  her  to  the  train-de-luxe  which  left  for 
Italy  that  night  and  went  back  with  Bill  to  the  old 
Surrey  house  on  the  edge  of  the  Epsom  Downs. 
Together  they  continued  to  race  until  the  great  black 
cloud,  about  which  Lord  Roberts  had  so  persistently 
and  so  urgently  warned  the  British  Government, 
finally  burst  on  the  fourth  of  August  1914.'  " 


50  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  Ah,  you  Ve  come  to  that  awful  day!  " 

"Just  as  that  awful  day  will  forever  come  back 
to  us,  my  dear.  .  .  .  '  It  was  too  much  for  Barclay 
Mortimer  to  see  his  old  friends  the  French  and  the 
British  on  the  edge  of  complete  ruin  without  lend- 
ing a  hand.  Instantly,  therefore,  he  established  an 
ambulance  unit  and  devoted  his  wealth  and  personal 
energies  to  its  efficiency.  Bill,  imbued  with  the 
same  spirit,  collected  his  mother,  took  her  to  Lon- 
don, got  into  the  stampede  of  Americans  who  were 
anxious  to  get  back,  .  .  .' ' 

"  Shall  I  ever  forget  that  melee,  that  football 
scrum ! " 

" '  eventually  caught  a  boat,  and  being  aware  of 
the  fact  that  the  United  States  would  not  be  able  to 
stand  aloof  from  the  European  cataclysm  whatever 
her  present  views  might  be,  joined  that  body  of  ex- 
cellent and  far-seeing  Americans  who  made  the 
word  Plattsburg  stand  out  in  golden  letters  in  the 
history  of  the  United  States.  Thus,  when  the  hour 
came  for  the  Stars  and  Stripes  to  take  its  place 
among  the  banners  of  the  Allies,  Bill  and  his  friends 
were  among  the  first  to  be  commissioned  into  that 
great  army  which  poured  in  long  brown  streams  into 
the  pock-marked  fields  of  France  and  turned  the 
scales  against  Germany.' ' 

"My  own  dear  Bill!" 

'  He  sailed  in  1917  and  served  with  conspicuous 
ability  and  devotion  to  duty  until  November  1918, 
when,  unfortunately,  the  reins  were  taken  out  of  the 
hands  of  fighting  men  and  controlled  once  more  by 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  51 

those  very  politicians  whose  lack  of  vision  and  pro- 
fessional selfishness  had  permitted  the  black  cloud 
to  grow  and  give  the  knockout  blow  to  civilization. 
He  remained  with  the  army  of  occupation,  watching 
with  the  deepest  disgust  all  the  pettifogging  parish 
pumpism  which  interfered  with  the  triumph  of  the 
Allied  arms,  took  the  sword  out  of  the  hands  of 
Foch  and  very  nearly  undermined  the  superb  sac- 
rifice of  fighting  men  by  the  attempt  to  establish  a 
League  of  Nations  before  peace  had  been  forced 
upon  Germany.  Fretting  his  soul  out  on  the  banks 
of  the  Rhine  he  watched  with  amazement  and  cha- 
grin the  substitution  of  self-filling  pens  for  machine 
guns,  and  listened  to  the  cackling  of  foolish  crea- 
tures blown  out  like  toads  with  vanity,  for  several 
weary  months.' ' 

"  And  the  wonder  of  it  was,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Mortimer,  on  whom  every  reference  to  Bill  in  this 
curious  document  acted  electrically,  "that  his  let- 
ters from  Coblenz  did  n't  get  him  court-martialed." 

"  Probably  the  censor  was  his  friend,  Madame. 
And  now  for  the  pages  that  bring  us  up  to  the  pres- 
ent moment.  You  're  not  fatigued,  or  bored,  I 
trust?" 

"  No,  no.  It  is  all  intensely  interesting  to  me. 
Please  go  on." 

"  Very  well  then.  .  .  .  '  In  the  meantime  his 
father,  after  five  years  of  strenuous  work,  during 
which  time  he  had  poured  his  money  and  his  spirit 
into  his  ambulances,  said  good-by  to  poor  broken 
France,  made  his  way  once  more  across  those 


52  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

three  thousand  miles  of  water  which  no  longer  di- 
vided America  from  her  sister  countries  and  took 
up  his  residence  permanently  under  the  roof  of  his 
ancestors.  Here  he  was  joined  by  the  lady  whose 
hair  had  gone  white  beneath  the  uniform  cap  of  a 
Red  Cross  nurse,  which  she  had  worn  from  that 
terrible  hour  when  those  gray  hordes  ran  amuck 
through  Belgium  and  only  removed  when  the  news 
of  a  false  peace  burst  upon  a  tired  world  and  set  all 
the  bells  ringing  for  something  about  which  there 
was  very  little  to  rejoice.  There  was  something 
not  a  little  whimsical  in  the  reunion  at  last  of  the 
Old  Rip  and  the  woman  who  had  really  never  been 
his  wife,  both  of  whom  had  lived  up  to  their  tradi- 
tion under  the  stress  of  a  huge  and  beautiful  sym- 
pathy for  the  people  who  had  shown  them  friend- 
ship and  for  the  countries  in  which  they  had  en- 
joyed so  much  happiness.  .  .  .'  Do  you  like  the 
word  'whimsical'  there,  Madame?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  so.  It  would  n't  be  quite  true 
to  write  'pathetic',  would  it? — although  it  might 
look  better  to  Bill's  children,  perhaps.  Think  it 
over  some  day." 

"  I    will,"    said    Mortimer.       He    read    again. 

'  They  joined  forces  finally  when  both  were  driven 
into  the  realization  that  they  were  to  be  laid  on  the 
shelf  and  wait  with  becoming  patience  for  that  in- 
evitable hour  when  death  should  beckon  to  them 
and  they  would  be  obliged  to  follow.  It  goes  with- 
out saying  that  they  met  under  the  old  family  roof 
with  much  mutual  respect  In  the  affair  of  the 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  53 

war,  at  any  rate,  they  had  played  the  game,  forgot- 
ten self,  laid  their  little  indulgences  aside.  They 
saw  themselves,  luckily,  with  a  certain  sense  of  hu- 
mor, war-worn  and  time-worn,  and  like  thorough- 
bred horses  no  longer  able  to  join  the  hunt.  They 
looked  at  each  other  from  adjoining  boxes  with  eyes 
full  of  pleasant  reminiscence,  unregretful,  uncom- 
plaining, satisfied  with  having  had  a  devilish  good 
time  and  very  ready  to  make  each  other's  acquaint- 
ance, mutually  aware  of  the  fact  that  they  had, 
however,  proved  themselves  worthy  of  becoming 
acquainted.  Passion  had  gone  out  of  their  lives,  the 
desire  to  compete  with  the  younger  people  had 
fallen  like  autumn  leaves.  The  world  was  no 
longer  with  them.  They  had  become  bystanders, 
lookers  on,  critics,  not  warped  and  not  without 
sympathy  for  the  others  who  followed  in  their  foot- 
steps and  occupied  their  places.  The  spirit  of  ad- 
venture which  had  pervaded  both  of  them  had  left 
them,  and  they  came  together  at  last  with  an  en- 
forced sexlessness  which  neither  of  them  regretted. 
They  were  in  every  sense  of  the  word  companions, 
made  more  companionable  from  the  fact  that  with 
the  frankness  of  friends  they  could  compare  notes 
as  to  their  indiscretions,  and  make  plans  for  the 
happiness  and  comfort  of  their  only  son,  for  whom 
they  had  reserved  the  best  of  all  their  love.' ' 

He  read  these  last  words  with  a  voice  broken  with 
very  genuine  emotion,  rose,  removed  his  glasses 
which  were  befoggec^  with  tears,  bent  over  the  white- 
haired  lady  who  had  never  permitted  the  suspicion 


54  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

of  scandal  to  be  attached  to  her  name,  never  once 
attempted  to  interfere  with  his  philandering  or  to 
disturb  the  precious  friendship  which  had  always 
existed  between  himself  and  Bill,  and  raised  her 
hand  deferentially  to  his  lips. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  out  of  all  this  one  fact 
emerges  like  a  monument." 

"  And  what  is  that,  Barclay?  " 

"  Your  sportsmanship,  my  dear." 

VIII 

IT  was  not  late,  but  the  hour  had  come  for  bed. 
Mrs.  Mortimer  always  read  for  an  hour  before  go- 
ing to  sleep,  and  the  Old  Buck  placed  himself  in  the 
hands  of  Denham  for  an  anti-rheumatic  treatment 
before  a  final  disappearance  for  the  day. 

While  he  gathered  up  the  pages  written  with  that 
characteristic  mixture  of  freely  acknowledged  ego- 
tism and  persistent  satire  which  he  had  carried  with 
him  always  and  still  clung  to  as  an  aid  to  his  bluff 
of  middle-age,  Mrs.  Mortimer  went  over  to  one  of 
the  windows  and  pushed  it  open. 

The  reading  of  this  scenario  of  her  husband's  life 
had  set  all  her  memories  on  the  wing  like  a  flight 
of  newly  released  pigeons.  Old  half-forgotten 
scents  and  scenes  and  faces,  words  and  places  and 
names  had  been  brought  back  to  her  vividly.  Men 
who  had  once  been  all-important  to  her  happiness 
had  stood  before  her  again  in  all  the  pride  and  glory 
of  love  and  youth.  Far-away  incidents  in  her  long 
leadership  of  society,  triumphant  and  envied,  had 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  55 

added  a  beat  to  her  pulse  and  a  touch  of  color  to 
her  cheeks.  It  had  been  an  exciting  evening,  a 
moving  picture  of  people  and  feelings  now  lying  in 
the  limbo  of  an  unreturnable  past.  But  the  image 
which  remained  most  clearly  in  her  mind  was  the 
one  of  herself,  so  like  Martha  Wainwright  as  to  be 
almost  uncanny,  being  brought  forward,  —  the 
words  stuck,  —  to  become  the  wife  of  Barclay 
Mortimer,  the  mistress  of  his  house  and  the  mother 
of  his  son.  And  as  she  looked  out  at  the  dark 
woods  which  hid  the  solid  and  scrupulous  Wain- 
wright home  from  her  sight  she  asked  herself,  for 
the  first  time  with  a  sudden  twinge  of  conscience, 
if,  after  all,  there  was  not  something  very  cruel  and 
almost  criminal  in  her  plan  deliberately  and  in  cold 
blood  to  place  this  good  little  girl  in  a  position  in 
which  her  story  might  be  repeated,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  Martha  would  walk  to  the  sacrifice  with 
love  in  her  heart.  Here  was  Bill,  "  a  very  naughty 
boy,"  older  by  many  years  than  this  unsophisticated 
child.  He  would  bring  to  the  partnership,  if  the 
scheme  succeeded,  no  idealism,  nothing  of  first  love, 
not  one  atom  of  freshness.  The  husks  of  many 
affairs  with  women  would  hang  about  him,  and  as 
he  had  inherited  much  of  the  susceptibility  of  his 
father,  there  was  no  guarantee  that  his  domestic  fe- 
licity, so  called,  would  not  be  forgotten  at  the  sight 
of  any  pretty  face.  Here  was  this  worldly  house  to 
which  Martha  would  be  brought,  utterly  devoid  of 
the  environment  of  duty  and  the  example  of  honesty 
which  pervaded  her  own  home,  and  here  would  be  the 


56  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

Old  Rip  and  his  nominal  wife  conducting  a  comic- 
pathetic  companionship  which  must  be  a  constant 
puzzle  to  a  girl  whose  own  father  and  mother  were 
on  very  different  terms.  It  would  be  like  trans- 
planting a  wild  rose  to  a  hot-house,  or  binding  a 
hymn-book  in  the  covers  of  Boccaccio.  .  .  .  With 
the  thought  of  what  she  herself  might  have  been  if 
she  had  married  the  man  of  her  undiscovered  love, 
the  white-haired  lady,  stirred  by  the  reading  of  this 
unmoral  history,  began  to  ask  herself  whether  it 
was  fair  and  permissible  to  shape  things  in  such  a 
way  that  this  dear  sweet  girl  might  repeat  the  story 
that  she  had  just  listened  to,  and  having  given  a  nec- 
essary heir  to  the  family,  go  off  on  a  similar  series 
of  tangents  as  soon  as  the  inevitable  disillusion  set 
in.  And  it  would  set  in,  she  feared,  because,  being 
human,  Martha  would  soon  discover  the  existence 
of  a  Blue  Room  in  Bill's  life  and  would  find  it  the 
one  room  of  all  into  which  she  would  be  most  eager 
to  peer. 

Lingering  at  the  window  and  looking  out  at  the 
dark  quiet  woods  behind  which  stood  the  house 
which  Jonathan  Wainwright  had  built  by  the  sweat 
of  his  brow  Mrs.  Mortimer  pictured  Martha  asleep 
in  her  virginal  room  dreaming  of  her  hero  who  was 
blameless  and  without  reproach,  and  waiting  with 
a  fluttering  heart  for  his  return,  hope  seeing  a  star 
and  listening  love  hearing  the  rustling  of  a  wing. 
But  when  she  turned  back  into  the  room  and  saw 
Bill's  face  in  the  photograph  and  his  careless  at- 
tractive eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  something  in  them 


THE   BLUE    ROOM 


57 


which  she  interpreted  as  a  longing  to  settle  down, 
she  threw  aside  her  scruples  and  her  unselfish  sym- 
pathy. "  I  have  found  a  little  wife  for  you,  my 
darling  boy,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Come  home 
and  build  your  nest." 


PART   II 


HAVING  shaken  hands  with  the  hall-porter  and 
the  elevator  man  and  said  cheery  things  to  both, 
Bill  Mortimer  stood  grinning  in  the  middle  of  all 
the  kit  that  had  been  dumped  into  his  sitting  room. 
And  there  he  remained  for  several  moments  won- 
dering, as  he  looked  about  and  saw  that  everything 
was  exactly  as  he  left  it,  even  to  the  pile  of  letters 
that  he  had  put  under  a  small  bronze  figure  of 
Venus  and  forgotten  to  answer,  whether  the  last 
two  years  in  France  had  ever  happened.  This  com- 
fortable and  aloof  room,  filled  with  permanent  per- 
sonal things,  each  one  of  which  had  its  peculiar  in- 
terest, made  all  the  quick-changing  incidents  out  of 
which  he  had  had  the  luck  to  emerge  seem  to  be  part 
of  an  hallucination.  He  must  have  read  them  all 
as  having  happened  to  some  other  man  or  dreamed 
about  them  during  a  much  disturbed  night.  .  .  . 
Here,  in  the  same  places,  with  the  same  air  of  al- 
ways having  been,  was  everything  that  spelt  Bill 
Mortimer.  His  books  and  pictures,  golf  clubs,  polo 
clubs,  guns  in  a  glassed-in  rack,  writing  desk  all 


60  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

untidy  as  he  had  left  it,  huge  sofas  on  the  cushions 
of  one  of  which  he  thought  he  could  still  see  the 
little  dent  where  the  golden  head  of  Birdie  Carroll 
had  rested  a  few  nights  before  he  sailed ;  the  framed 
photographs  of  several  charming  girls;  the  Welsh 
dresser  with  its  cut  glass  decanters  and  boxes  of 
cigars ;  the  pictures  of  his  race-horses  with  a  collec- 
tion of  rosettes  pinned  to  their  frames;  the  piano 
over  whose  keys  the  soft  fingers  of  Susan  Hatch 
had  so  often  wandered  and  out  of  which  Jeanne 
Dacoral  had  drawn  the  uneasy  music  of  Heller's 
"  Sleepless  Nights  "  and  the  gamin  stuff  of  Paris  cab- 
arets ;  the  full  length  portrait  of  his  father  by  Shan- 
non and  his  mother  by  the  young  Italian  artist  who 
had  put  a  bullet  through  his  brain  because  he  could 
not  win  her  lips,  —  here  they  all  were,  as  though 
he  had  gone  away  a  few  hours  before,  stamped  with 
his  personality,  docketed  in  his  mind  with  dates  and 
sensations  and  sentiments.  .  .  .  Was  it  possible, 
that  he  had  been  away  from  them  all,  and  all  that 
they  meant  in  his  life,  for  two  solid  years  of  kaleido- 
scopic events,  the  blurred  impressions  of  which 
were  of  indescribable  row,  of  almost  comic  discom- 
forts, of  chaotic  movements,  and  of  men's  laughter 
and  screams  ?  .  .  . 

He  stepped  over  the  shabby  fat  roll  of  his  sleep- 
ing kit,  which  bulged  with  boots,  went  to  one  of  the 
windows  and  opened  it,  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  deep 
content.  .  .  .  New  York,  —  with  its  hum  of  traf- 
fic rising  up  from  the  polished  surface  of  Fifth 
Avenue.  The  Plaza  with  all  its  windows  gleaming, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  61 

standing  out  against  the  black  velvet  of  the  night 
like  the  giant's  castle  of  a  child's  dream.  .  .  .  He 
gazed  out  at  the  familiar  sight  with  a  curious  thrill. 
In  the  days  that  were  so  amazingly  remote  and 
which  seemed  like  yesterday,  he  never  remembered 
consciously  to  have  noticed  this  scene,  any  more 
than  he  could  say  that  he  had  been  affected  by  the 
song  of  the  traffic  and  the  characteristic  scent  of  the 
City.  It  is  only  after  a  long  absence  from  a  town 
or  a  wife  that  the  charm  of  either  comes  upon  a  man 
with  surprise. 

Then  he  shook  himself  and  laughed  a  little  and 
turned  round  to  his  friend.  "  Demobilized,  —  at 
last,"  he  said. 

The  other  man,  on  whose  slight  figure  even  the 
beltless,  musical-comedy  uniform  of  the  Royal  Fly- 
ing Corps  looked  almost  smart,  helped  himself  to  a 
stiff  whisky.  "  In  my  case,  old  bean,  that 's  not 
the  word." 

"What  is  it  then?" 

"  Demoralized,"  he  replied,  without  cynicism  and 
without  bitterness,  in  the  same  f  eelingless  tone  as  he 
might  have  said  denationalized.  And  then,  with 
the  inimitable  indifference  of  the  keenly  interested 
Englishman,  he  started  on  a  tour  of  the  room  and 
shot  out  quiet  and  pertinent  comments  as  he  went. 
'  Tacitus,  by  Jove !  I  won  a  very  necessary 
twenty  quid  on  that  horse  when  I  was  a  nipper  at 
Eton.  A  good  Derby,  that." 

"  I  was  there  when  my  old  man  led  him  in.  I 
shall  never  forget  his  face,"  said  Bill.  "  Ever 


62  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

imagine  the  sort  of  expression  a  battery  major  on 
the  verge  of  shell  shock  would  wear  on  receiving  a 
chit  appointing  him  to  Headquarters  Staff  ?  " 

Teddy  Jedburgh  shot  out  an  appreciative  laugh. 
He  had  seen  it  —  once.  The  story  of  the  various 
rosettes  was  read  in  a  glance.  Then  he  passed  in 
review  the  photographs  of  Bill's  little  friends. 
"  Very  charming  bits  of  fluff,  old  thing,"  he  said. 
"  Hearty  congrats."  He  paused  before  the  oil 
painting  of  Barclay  Mortimer  in  hunting  kit. 
"  Who 's  the  man  who  ought  to  have  been  a 
Duke?" 

"  My  father,"  said  Bill,  with  very  real  pride.. 

"  No  wonder  you  're  such  a  dashed  good  looking 
sportsman,  Bill.  And  the  beautiful  lady  with  eyes 
that  would  make  a  saint  forget  his  halo?  " 

"  My  mother,"  said  Bill. 

Teddy  bowed  to  the  canvas.  "  Some  jokers  have 
all  the  luck.  Why  did  you  wire  to  two  such  unique 
parents  not  to  meet  you  in  town  to-night  ?  " 

"  Selfish  reasons,"  said  Bill.  "  I  wanted  to  save 
it  for  the  old  homestead." 

"  I  see.  Quite.  .  .  .  Well,  you  certainly  know 
how  to  do  yourself  proud,  old  bean.  One  could  be 
very  comfortable  here.  May  I  see  the  rest  of  your 
oachelor  perch  ?  " 

With  almost  boyish  pleasure  in  what  he  had 
learned  to  understand  was  enthusiasm  on  his 
friend's  part  Bill  opened  a  door.  "  Dining-room," 
he  said,  and  led  the  way  through  an  arch  into  a 
booklined  cubby  hole.  "  For  the  education  of  va- 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  63 

lets.  I  don't  read.  And  now  come  along 
here.  .  .  .  My  bedroom,  with  dressing  room  on 
one  side,  bathroom  on  the  other.  Here  's  your  bed- 
room for  as  long  as  you  like  to  use  it." 

"Thanks  most  awfully.     And  these  stairs?" 

"  Up  to  roof  garden." 

"Roof  garden!" 

"  Yes.     Come  up.     Mind  your  head." 

"  Great  Scot,"  said  Teddy  Jedburgh,  drawing  his 
breath. 

The  house  was  high  and  its  roof  was  neck  and 
shoulders  above  those  of  the  adjoining  buildings. 
Away  below,  north,  east,  south  and  west  lay  the 
great,  ugly,  fascinating  City,  a  very  Gulliver's  city, 
with  its  other  erections  vying  in  an  endeavor  to 
stick  their  flat  heads  in  among  the  stars.  Some 
were  dark  blots  against  the  sky,  some  were  fairy- 
like  and  almost  transparent  with  a  thousand  glisten- 
ing eyes.  Alongside  the  Park,  with  its  intersecting 
roads  and  belts  of  trees,  the  great  Avenue  ran,  alive 
with  the  head  and  tail  lights  of  what  seemed  to  be 
fast  moving  fireflies.  An  arch  across  which  was 
stretched  a  necklace  of  beads  stood  a  little  way  to  the 
right  under  the  steady  glare  of  searchlights.  It 
might  have  been  the  entrance  into  the  Realm 
of  Moving  Pictures  erected  especially  for  Theda 
Bara. 

"  You  may  thank  all  your  gods  for  the  Atlantic," 
said  Teddy,  at  last.  "  What  an  unholy  joy  the 
Huns  would  have  taken  in  dropping  bombs  on 
this!" 


64  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  The  Atlantic  and  the  British  Tommy,"  said 
Bill.  "  Yes." 

He  led  the  way  down  and  back  to  the  sitting 
room,  where  they  found  a  Jap  valet,  with  a  face  as 
shiny  as  his  alpaca  jacket.  All  that  kit  lying  about 
meant  work  and  there  was  a  sour  glint  in  his  slits 
of  eyes. 

"  Shall  we  feed  in  or  go  out  somewhere?  " 

"  Is  it  all  the  same  to  you?  " 

"  Yes,  old  man." 

"  Then  let 's  go  out.  The  call  of  this  city  is  in  my 
blood.  Little  old  New  York,  eh  ?  Watch  me  paint 
it  red.  But  first  I  '11  sample  your  bathroom,  if  I 
may.  I  want  hot  water,  and  bath  salts,  and  a  mat 
soft  to  the  feet,  and  scented  soap,  and  every  other 
little  thing  like  that.  After  which,  having  shed 
uniform  for  evening  clothes  I  'm  out  for  caviare 
and  the  bubbly  and  the  horrid  music  of  a  Jazz  band, 
and  if  you  can  put  me  in  the  way  of  a  dear  sweet 
thing  with  a  laughing  mouth  and  pacifistic  notions, 
I  shall  ask  nothing  more.  ...  I  salute  you,  Civili- 
zation." He  did  so  as  a  veteran  pays  tribute  to  the 
dead,  took  off  his  cap  and  chucked  it  to  the  far  end 
of  the  room. 

Bill  grinned  again.  "  Itoto,  fix  the  bath  for  Lord 
Edward  Jedburgh." 

Teddy  waited  until  the  little  oily  man  had  oozed 
his  way  out.  "  Major  Jedburgh,  if  you  don't 
mind,"  he  said,  with  unexpected  gravity.  "  My 
father  has  sold  all  the  anchors  that  held  us  to  a 
country  that 's  about  to  be  divided  up  by  the  La- 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  65 

bor  Leaders.  He  and  I  are  nomads,  like  the  rest 
of  us.  That  Lord  stuff  has  been  wiped  off  the  face 
of  the  earth  by  old  man  Krupp." 

II 

BILL  chose  the  Ritz  for  dinner  because  there  he 
could  show  Jedburgh  the  most  cosmopolitan  mix- 
ture of  human  various  to  be  found  in  New  York. 
Like  the  London  Savoy  it  draws  people  from  every 
grade  of  life,  from  the  astonishing  blondes  of  mov- 
ing picture  fame  to  the  elaborate  cocottes  with  the 
manners  of  grandes  dames;  from  the  nice  suburban 
people  of  transparent  rectitude  who  have  come  in 
for  the  evening,  to  the  wispy  debutantes  trying  very 
hard  to  be  mistaken  for  ladies  of  easy  virtue,  — 
with  some  success. 

The  band  was  not  Jazz,  but  an  orchestra  of  picked 
musicians,  and  it  played  delightfully  under  the  lead- 
ership of  a  man  who  used  his  violin  with  masterly 
carelessness  and  gave  the  impression  of  being  a 
high  diplomat  who  had  taken  up  music  as  a  hobby. 
French,  Italian,  Belgian  and  British  uniforms  were 
to  be  seen  everywhere,  by  the  side  of  frocks  devoid 
of  backs,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  room,  which 
struck  Jedburgh  as  being  like  a  great  Wedgwood  bowl 
turned  outside  in,  was  exactly  what  his  mood  desired. 

The  two  men  did  themselves  well,  but  as  both  of 
them  had  been  up  since  five  o'clock  that  eventful 
morning  and  roof  gardens  were  deserts  until  the 
theaters  emptied  they  left  at  half  past  nine  and 
walked  home  along  the  almost  lonely  Avenue. 


66  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

Bill  let  himself  in  to  his  apartment,  but  was  held 
up  on  the  threshold  by  the  night  elevator  man, 
whose  effusive  greetings  were  not,  and  ought  not, 
to  be  cut  short.  And  so  Teddy  Jedburgh  went  into 
the  sitting  room  alone. 

His  eyes  were  immediately  caught  by  the  living 
representation  of  a  picture  that  he  had  cut  out  of 
Le  Petit  Parisien  and  tacked  to  the  wall  of  his 
quarters.  .  .  .  Curled  up  on  the  sofa  in  front  of 
the  fireplace,  her  hat  was  stabbed  to  one  cushion  and 
her  small  fair  head  was  deep  into  another.  Long 
eyelashes  made  fans  upon  her  cheeks,  and  between 
her  red  lips,  which  were  slightly  apart  like  those  of 
a  sleeping  child,  a  row  of  very  perfect  teeth  gleamed. 
The  fingers  of  one  small  hand  touched  the  floor  and 
the  other,  palm  upwards,  lay  in  her  lap.  The  fact 
that  one  shapely  leg  in  a  black  silk  stocking  was 
charmingly  disclosed  made  the  whole  alluring  pic- 
ture French. 

The  R.  A.  F.  Major,  who  had  been  sent  to  the 
United  States  to  assist  in  winding  up  the  work  of 
the  British  Mission,  imagined  for  a  moment  that 
he  was  dreaming  true,  and  gazed  at  the  little  figure 
incredulously.  But  when  he  heard  Bill's  cheery 
"  good  night "  and  anticipated  the  imminent  bang- 
ing of  the  door  with  the  feelings  of  a  man  who  hates 
sacrilege,  he  tiptoed  back  and  held  up  his  hand. 

"  Sssh !  "  he  whispered,  "  we  're  entertaining  an 
angel  unawares." 

Bill  needn  *t  have  been  surprised,  because  in  the 
old  days  before  the  war  he  had  rarely  returned  to 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  67 

his  rooms  without  finding  one  or  other,  and  some- 
times both,  of  his  latest  engrossments  waiting  for 
him.  At  the  moment  he  was,  however,  unprepared 
for  a  visitor  and  had  forgotten  exactly  who  was 
most  likely  to  have  discovered  his  name  in  the  even- 
ing paper,  upon  the  list  of  returning  officers.  Still 
wearing  his  hat  he  went  forward,  treading  like  a  cat 
on  hot  bricks,  with  Jedburgh  in  close  attendance, 
and  bent  over  the  sofa. 

"  It 's  Susie  Hatch,"  he  said.  "  Dear  little  soul. 
Is  n't  it  nice  of  her  to  look  me  up  like  this  ?  " 

With  a  twinge  of  inappropriate  jealousy  Jed- 
burgh  watched  him  go  down  on  one  knee  and  kiss 
the  sleeper  on  the  lips. 

The  eyelids  lifted,  two  round  blue  eyes  stared  for 
a  moment  blurred  with  sleep,  a  cry  of  "  Bill  "  rang 
through  the  room  and  a  pair  of  arms  were  flung  out 
to  clasp  a  willing  neck. 

"  Lucky  devil,"  said  Jedburgh,  and  walked  away 
to  the  cigar  boxes. 

"Just  by  accident  I  saw  your  name  and  came 
round  on  the  off  chance.  ...  it 's  like  the  old  days, 
Bill.  ...  oh,  my  dear!" 

"  She 's  crying,"  said  Teddy  to  himself.  "  My 
God,  why  was  n't  I  wise  enough  to  tack  on  to  a  little 
human  thing  whose  tears  would  burst  for  me?  " 

With  the  delicacy  of  a  man  of  tradition  upon 
whom  even  war  had  not  had  the  whole  of  its  coar- 
sening effect  the  man  whose  father  had  sold  his 
landmarks  drifted  quietly  out  into  the  hall  and  shut 
the  door.  And  there  he  stood  on  the  cold  marble 


68  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

facing  the  elevator  shaft  with  an  unlighted  cigar 
between  his  teeth,  for  an  interminable  ten  minutes, 
—  cursing  his  pre-war  aloofness  and  determining 
once  again  to  make  up  for  lost  time  now  that,  more 
by  luck  than  judgment,  he  had  missed  the  bullet 
upon  which  his  name  had  been  stamped. 

At  last  the  door  opened.  "  My  dear  chap,"  said 
Bill,  ruefully. 

"  Perfectly  all  right,  old  thing,  perfectly  all  right. 
Do  as  you  would  be  done  by,  eh?  How  well  they 
build  these  places  here." 

"How  well  they  build  some  of  you  fellows  over 
there,"  said  Bill.  "  Come  in  and  be  introduced." 

"  I  'd  like  to." 

The  girl  was  kneeling  on  the  guard  that  made  a 
seat  in  front  of  the  fire.  She  needed  the  looking 
glass  by  which  to  powder  her  nose  and  replenish 
the  health  upon  her  lips.  She  was  a  mere  slip  of  a 
thing,  startlingly  young  to  be  flying  alone,  but  as 
self-assured  as  a  quack-medicine  merchant  among 
a  crowd  of  village  turnips.  She  had  the  profile  that 
goes  with  those  boyish  erect  women  who  swing 
along  in  triumphant  procession  in  Grecian  frescoes. 

"  Susie,"  said  Bill,  touching  her  elbow,  "  I  want 
you  to  know  Teddy  Jedburgh,  a  great  pal  of 
mine." 

She  remained  kneeling  but  swiveled  her  body 
round  from  her  plastic  waist.  Rather  disconcert- 
ingly she  said  nothing  and  for  several  seconds 
turned  her  blue  eyes  on  to  this  new  man  in  the  man- 
ner of  a  medical  officer  before  whom  stood  a  ma- 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  69 

• 

lingerer.  Then  a  smile  illuminated  her  face  and 
she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  How  are  you,  Susie  ?  "  asked  Jedburgh,  not 
with  anything  of  impertinence  but  with  the  glad  ac- 
ceptance of  proffered  friendship. 

"  Fine.  How  're  you,  Teddy  ?  Excuse  me  while 
I  put  the  final  touches  to  the  landscape." 

And  all  the  awkwardness  in  the  situation  lifted 
like  a  sea  fog.  The  true  spirit  of  camaraderie  was 
here,  rare  and  delightful,  in  which  the  eternal  sense 
of  sex  was  absent.  Susie  Hatch  knew  that  she 
could,  if  required,  stand  in  the  buff  before  Bill's 
pal  on  the  dais  of  a  studio  without  the  flicker  of 
an  eyelid.  It  was  instant  and  instinctive. 

"  I  wish  we  'd  known  you  were  coming*,  old 
kid,"  said  Bill.  "  We  'd  have  taken  you  out  to 
dinner." 

"  I  wish  you  had,"  said  Susie.  "  As  it  was  I 
nibbled  bird  seed  out  of  my  own  pan  in  the  glare  of 
the  Evening  Sun.  Bit  of  luck  I  did.  Otherwise  I 
should  n't  have  seen  that  your  transport  was  in. 
But  there  are  going  to  be  lots  of  little  dinners  in  the 
future,  Bill,  as  in  the  good  old  days."  And  she 
slipped  off  the  fireguard,  let  her  simple  vanity  case 
dangle  from  her  wrist  and  put  the  soft  palm  of  her 
hand  on  Bill's  mustache. 

"  Lots  of  'em,"  said  Bill,  emphatically,  though 
he  added  to  himself,  "But  not  with  me,  Susie,  my 
dear.  The  good  old  days  have  died  the  death. 
Bill 's  going  to  be  a  good  boy  now."  (Think  how 
the  white-haired  lady  would  have  preened  herself 


70  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

at  her  accurate  knowledge  of  men  if  she  could  have 
heard  that  sentiment!) 

"  I  must  push  along,"  she  added,  collecting  her 
hat,  and  using  the  dangerous  pin  with  callous  fin- 
gers. "  My  coat,  Teddy,  please.  It 's  over  there. 
There  's  a  bite  in  these  April  nights." 

He  fetched  it  and  helped  it  on.  Without  a  doubt 
she  could  put  him  in  the  way  of  the  dear  sweet 
thing  with  a  laughing  mouth  and  pacifistic  notions. 
Splendid. 

"  So  long,  Bill,"  she  said.  "  God,  how  I  've  been 
spoiling  for  this !  "  And  she  stood  on  tiptoe  and 
pressed  her  face  against  his  heart.  "  So  long, 
Teddy.  I  Ve  one  or  two  good  pals  too."  She 
could  easily  see  the  soldier-hunger  in  his  eyes,  it 
seemed.  "  Let 's  see,  —  Jedburgh.  Then  you  're 
the  Lord  Edward  Tankarville  Jedburgh,  son  of  the 
Duke  of  Berkshire,  who  got  a  bit  of  a  par  all  to 
yourself  tonight,  —  Major  R.  A.  F.,  and  a  bunch  of 
other  letters  besides.  Eh  ?  " 

"  I  was,"  said  Teddy,  "  five  years  ago.  All  that 
stuff  's  a  wash-out  now." 

"I  get  you,"  she  answered.  "Perhaps  it's  as 
well.  Jedburgh  pronounced  'Jedboro', —  how 
often  do  you  have  to  tell  people  how  to  spell  it  ?  " 

"  Every  time,"  said  Teddy. 

"  I  love  those  comic  English  names  that  are  spelt 
all  wrong."  She  gave  him  her  hand  again.  "  See 
you  to-morrow." 

"  Rather.     Cheerio." 

He  watched  her  as  she  made  her  way  to  the  door 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  71 

escorted  by  Bill.  A  good  sort,  honest  and  with  a 
golden  heart,  he  thought,  and  the  spiritual  courage 
of  a  Red  Cross  Nurse. 

"  Tell  me  about  her,"  he  said,  when  Bill  came 
back. 

Cigars  were  lighted  and  glasses  filled  before  Bill 
flung  himself  into  the  sofa.  He  was  tired  but  not 
sleepy.  Everything  in  him  tingled  at  the  thought 
of  to-morrow,  his  people,  the  old  homestead,  and 
peace. 

"  I  put  in  to  one  of  the  New  England  harbors  on 
the  coast  of  Maine,  August,  1913.  One  or  two 
hotels  about  for  summer  visitors,  mostly  Cana- 
dians, —  a  cheery  lot  who  had  achieved  things  — 
but  I  lived  aboard  the  *  lolanthe  '.  Engine  trouble 
kept  us  by  the  leg  for  a  week.  ...  I  watched  a  kid 
diving  like  a  mermaid  from  the  end  of  the  break- 
water, brown  as  a  nut.  She  swam  all  round  the 
yacht  day  after  *day  as  a  fish  circles  something  new 
and  enticing.  Sometimes  she  would  come  close 
up,  catch  my  eye,  and  dip  away,  as  shy  as  all  water 
things.  One  afternoon  I  called  out  and  asked  her 
on  to  tea,  never  dreaming  that  she  would  come  and 
not  caring.  I  simply  wanted  to  give  her  a  little 
amusement.  She  came,  climbed  on  like  a  boy,  sat 
in  the  sun  and  dried  and  said  yes  and  no  to  me  while 
I  talked,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  She  was  a 
water  baby,  the  child  of  the  four  winds,  Nature 
herself.  .  .  .  After  that  she  came  whenever  she 
could  and  we  yarned  and  she  painted  the  monotony 
of  her  life,  —  fisherman's  daughter,  tumbledown 


72  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

shack,  mother  worn  out  by  a  constantly  increasing 
family,  father  coming  in  and  going  out.  Men  must 
work  and  women  must  weep  and  the  harbor  bar 
goes  moaning.  .  .  .  Half  a  day  out,  engines  right 
again,  steward  reports  stowaway.  Up  conies  mer- 
maid, in  a  white  frock  longer  at  the  back  than  at 
the  front,  bare  brown  legs,  foot  to  make  a  sculptor 
fly  to  clay,  hair  bleached  by  the  sun,  eyes  like  robin's 
eggs  and  a  slice  of  the  sky.  .  .  .  Serious  talk,  a 
frightful  passion  of  tears,  an  appeal  for  love  that 
would  have  wrung  the  bloodless  heart  of  a  stone 
saint,  —  and  Bill  the  human  man.  Good  God,  what 
else  than  to  help  her  to  life?  Eventually  New 
York,  an  apartment,  an  allowance,  and  I  give  you 
my  solemn  word  the  loyalty  and  devotion  of  a 
stray  dog.  .  .  .  Teddy,  that  child  has  done  more  to 
make  me  respect  women  than  anyone  on  earth. 
My  mother  and  Susie  Hatch  sent  me  to  Plattsburg, 
not  patriotism,  not  a  sense  of  self-respect.  I  had 
to  put  myself  between  them  and  the  Huns.  .  .  .  She 
is  very  happy  educating  herself  and  taking  lessons 
in  drawing  and  is  the  pet  of  a  collection  of  art  stu- 
dents—  but  she  belongs  to  me,  has  cleaved  herself 
to  me,  like  ivy  to  a  wall.  .  .  .  You  saw.  .  .  . 
That 's  the  story." 

There  was  a  rather  long  silence.  Teddy  sat  on 
the  fireguard  hugging  his  knees  and  looking  through 
the  wall  and  right  out  into  the  future.  To  anyone 
who  could  read  it  there  was  an  appeal  in  his  eyes 
to  be  rescued  from  great  loneliness  and  detachment 
and  the  sudden  spells  of  melancholy  that  crept  into 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  73 

his  soul.  He  would  give  ten  years  of  his  life  for 
such  an  attachment  as  the  one  Bill  had  drawn  in 
his  blunt,  impressionist  way.  To  have  someone, 
somewhere,  who  gave  a  damn  to  hear  his  voice, 
whose  exclusive  call  he  would  leap  to  answer,  — 
that  was  what  he  had  come  out  of  death  to  find.  It 
was  the  only  thing  to  make  the  escape  worth  while. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  at  last,  just  as  Bill  was  begin- 
ning to  think  that  he  had  gone  back  to  one  of  his 
stony  silent  moods,  "  I  need  n't  ask  what  you  're 
going  to  do,  old  son.  First  the  old  people  for  a 
week  or  so  and  then  Susie  and  the  '  lolanthe '  and 
the  wide  stretches  of  the  sea.  Is  that  it?  " 

Bill  shook  his  head.  "  No.  ...  No.  ...  I 
don't  know  quite  what 's  come  over  me,  whether 
this  show  has  aged  me  or  made  me  less  careless,  or 
what.  All  I  know  is  that  I  've  come  back  with  the 
prodigal  son's  longing  to  indulge  in  an  orgy  of  sen- 
timental reconstruction.  Y'  see,  I  Ve  laid  the  red- 
paint  on  pretty  thick  since  I  was  old  enough  to  know 
anything  about  colors  and  now  I  've  got  a  pathetic 
eagerness  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  and  build  a  church 
out  of  the  ruins  of  my  past,  so  to  speak." 

"  Marriage  and  kids,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that 's  the  notion.  ...  A  flower  ef  a  girl, 
with  the  dew  on  her  and  a  morning  hymn  in  her 
eyes,  —  all  to  myself,  to  treat  right,  and  play  the 
good  old  game  by,  and  a  young  Bill  and  a  tiny  Ly- 
lyth,  the  country  year  in  and  year  out  and  home. 
Get  me?" 

"Why  not  Susie?" 


74  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  Susie?  ...  I  dunno.  But  does  one  marry 
Susie?" 

"Perhaps  not.  Cursed  shame.  The  inevitable 
swing  of  the  pendulum  has  taken  you  back  to  the 
conventions.  It  always  happens." 

"  Does  it  ?  Yes,  I  suppose  it  does.  What  about 
you?" 

"  Me?  ...  It 's  not  the  same  thing.  The  after- 
math of  this  bloody  war  hits  me  differently.  I  had 
the  home  idea  pretty  strong  five  years  ago  and  was 
the  ordinary  British  landowning  cove  who  shot  his 
birds,  and  played  his  cricket,  and  rebuilt  the  cot- 
tages of  his  tenants,  was  quiet  and  orderly  and  even 
a  bit  idealistic,  —  believing  in  God  and  the  Consti- 
tution and  myself,  as  one  of  the  men  born  to  take  a 
hand  in  the  destinies  of  the  British  Empire,  and  all 
that.  You  know  the  type,  —  title,  houses,  horses, 
London,  the  country,  a  nice  girl  of  my  own  tradi- 
tions, marriage,  kids,  the  House  of  Lords,  duty  and 
a  muscular  old  age,  inspiring  my  son  to  walk  the 
narrow  path,  take  the  jumps,  play  with  a  straight 
bat  and  carry  on  as  per." 

"  Well  ?     What 's  the  matter  with  all  that  now  ?  " 

"  All  over,  old  thing.  Dead  as  a  skinned  rabbit. 
I  'm  a  Dodo,  like  the  rest  of  my  class.  Labor  has 
us  by  the  throat,  the  land  and  the  money  bags.  Be- 
sides which  I  Ve  come  out  of  a  long  game  of  touch 
wood  with  death  and  obeying  orders  blindly,  many 
of  'em  absolutely  crass  in  their  stupidity,  with  no 
longer  any  faith  in  God,  —  not  a  farthing's  worth." 

"How's  that?" 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  75 

"  Well,  it 's  difficult  to  explain.     I  believe  it 's  be- 
cause I  resent  this  war  as  something  so  fiendish,  so 
crooked,  so  purposeless  that  if  there  'd  been  a  God 
he  would  never  have  let  it  happen.     I  don't  say  that 
I  didn't  enjoy  it  all  after  I  got  used  to  it.     I  did. 
I  had  the  time  of  my  life,  —  but  it  swung  me  into 
a  new  way  of  looking  at  things  and  it 's  left  me  with 
faith  only  in  the  men  who  did  the  dirty  work  with 
jokes  on  their  lips,  the  women  who  patched  them  up 
to  do  it  again  and  the  beardless  sky-larking  boys 
who  went  up  in  the  air  and  did  n't  give  a  curse  if 
they  never  came  down  again.     My  faith  is  in  hu- 
manity now,  and  in  humanity  as  the  opposite  of 
God,  as  a  mass  of  small  creatures  with  a  limited 
time  out  of  which  to  snatch  all  the  happiness  that 's 
going,  —  to  love  and  play  the  giddy  ox  and  go  on  the 
loose.     Why  not  ?     As  there  's  no  God  there  's  no 
need  to  earn  a  safe  seat  in  Heaven.     The  narrow 
path  is  no  thoroughfare  and  rectitude's  a  waste  of 
effort.      So    I   begin    where   you   leave    off,    Bill. 
That 's  the  way  it 's  hit  me,  and  while  you  're  putting 
up  the  stones  that  are  going  to  make  your  church,  I 
pull  my  church  down  and  hide  the  stones  in  wild 
oats.     I  'm  here,  in  a  country  that 's  not  so  blood- 
drained  and  twisted  into  knots  as  my  own,  to  take 
on  a  Susie  Hatch.     I  give  myself  extended  leave. 
I  'm  going  to  pay  myself  back  for  five  years  of 
close  attention  to  the  job  we  all  had  in  hand  by  get- 
ting even  with  my  old  idea  of  God.  .  .  .  There  you 
have  me,  as  far  as  I  know  myself." 

There  was  another  silence,   during  which  Bill 


76  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

looked  closely  at  the  tall,  spare  man  who  sat  nurs- 
ing his  knees  on  the  fireguard,  —  the  man  built  on 
the  clean,  thoroughbred  lines  of  a  race  horse,  with 
a  high  and  thoughtful  forehead,  wide  apart  gray 
eyes,  fair  fine  hair  that  went  into  natural  kinks 
when  allowed  to  do  so ;  a  straight  nose,  a  small  fair 
mustache  over  a  mouth  that  was  devoid  of  sensu- 
alism but  not  of  the  desire  to  kiss,  and  a  lean  jaw. 
A  distinguished  soldier,  with  the  knack  of  getting 
men  to  work  against  the  grain  and  follow  him  into 
feats  of  unbelievable  courage,  with  a  sense  of  dis- 
cipline that  had  sent  him  back  to  his  command  after 
three  separate  doses  of  shrapnel  that  would  have 
put  many  others  on  a  cushy  billet  behind  the 
lines.  .  .  .  He  knew  him  for  all  that.  The  rest 
came  as  a  surprise,  because  during  all  the  monoto- 
nous hours  of  the  voyage  home  the  fourth  wall  had 
never  been  let  down.  .  .  .  Krupp  had  blown  his 
God  out  of  Heaven,  it  seemed,  and  given  shell  shock 
to  his  sense  of  law  and  order. 

Bill  got  up  and  stretched  himself  and  pitched  the 
butt  of  his  cigar  into  the  fireplace.  He  under- 
stood, though  in  the  light  of  his  own  point  of  view 
he  was  sorry.  It  was  not  for  him,  of  all  men,  to 
moralize. 

"  Well,  good  luck,  Teddy,"  he  said. 

"  The  same  to  you,  Bill,"  said  Teddy. 

And  they  turned  in  for  the  night,  to  follow  their 
diametrical  paths  when  the  new  day  came. 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  77 

III 

THE  message  that  Bill  had  sent  over  the  wire  to 
his  mother,  asking  her  not  to  meet  him  in  the  City 
but  to  let  him  find  her  among  her  flowers  in  the  old 
garden  with  his  father,  was  received  the  evening 
before  the  transport  put  into  the  river  and  edged 
its  cheering  way  through  a  misty  day  to  dock  as 
the  sun  went  down.  Martha  was  with  her  at  the 
time,  with  a  hammering  heart,  inarticulate  under 
great  waves  of  emotion,  in  which  gratitude  to  God 
for  prayers  so  fully  answered  clashed  with  the 
impending  joy  of  seeing  her  hero  again. 

Both  the  Mortimers  were  relieved  in  being  spared 
the  effort  of  a  long  and  early  drive  to  a  City  full 
of  Dead  Sea  fruit,  and  they  were  equally  touched 
by  Bill's  desire  for  a  reunion  under  the  roof  of  the 
old  house  in  which  he  had  been  born  and  to  which 
they  themselves  had  retired.  It  proved  to  them, 
too,  as  nothing  else  could  have  done,  the  accuracy 
of  their  contention  that  the  reaction  from  war  would 
find  Bill  in  a  domestic  mood.  If  he  had  asked  them 
to  come  up  to  meet  him,  had  dined  with  them,  sent 
them  home  and  plunged  into  the  current  of  his  old 
life  with  his  old  friends,  their  pet  scheme,  in  which 
Martha  Wainwright  was  to  play  the  leading  part, 
must  have  crumbled  like  paper  at  the  touch  of  a 
lighted  match. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  had  read  the  telegram  aloud  to 
the  eager  slip  of  a  girl  and  had  watched  the  flame  in 
her  eyes  and  the  rush  of  color  to  her  cheeks  with  her 


78  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

usual  imperturbability  but  an  excitement  very  .diffi- 
cult to  conceal.  She  would  go  happily  to  what- 
ever was  waiting  for  her  on  the  other  side  if  she 
could  leave  Bill  married  and  settled  down  with  this 
most  suitable  girl. 

The  whole  of  the  next  day  was  a  series  of  broken 
precedents.  Routine  was  shattered.  The  studied 
equability  and  smoothness  of  meals  was  replaced  by 
an  electrical  snappiness  and  even  irritability.  The 
Old  Buck  was  on  the  tips  of  his  toes.  He  could 
hardly  bear  to  sit  down  even  for  five  consecutive 
minutes.  To  the  extreme  annoyance  of  the  house- 
keeper and  Albery  he  insisted  upon  superintending 
personally  every  detail  in  the  preparation  of  Bill's 
suite  of  rooms.  He  trotted  about  the  house  to  make 
sure  that  everything  was  in  the  pink  of  order,  he 
inspected  the  garden  with  the  anxiety  of  a  Colonel 
anticipating  the  visit  of  a  Brigadier  General,  snap- 
ping absurd  orders  to  gardeners  which  left  them  in 
a  condition  of  mental  chaos,  and  by  his  repeated  in- 
terference reduced  the  head  coachman  to  the  verge 
of  blasphemy.  Even  the  faithful  Denham,  with 
whom  he  was,  as  a  rule,  on  terms  of  intimate  friend- 
ship, fled  at  the  sound  of  his  parade  rasp,  and  as- 
sured the  kitchen  that  if  "  he  had  much  more  of  this 
he'd  either  kill  the  old  devil  by  giving  him  a  dose 
of  hair  dye  or  go  back  to  England  by  the  next  boat 
and  buy  that  there  pub  in  his  native  village."  Fi- 
nally, very  tired  and  irascible,  he  retired  early  in 
order  to  undergo  an  extra  dose  of  face  massage  and 
electrical  treatment  and  heard  the  conscientious 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  79 

clock  on  his  mantelpiece  strike  every  hour  until  five, 
when  he  fell  into  the  sleep  of  a  schoolboy  on  the 
verge  of  his  first  summer  camp  or  a  young  girl  be- 
fore her  initial  dip  into  the  world.  If  anyone  had 
told  him  that  even  the  return  of  his  beloved  Bill 
would  so  far  have  flung  him  out  of  balance  he  would 
have  sent  out  a  scoffing  laugh  and  told  him  that 
"nothing  upsets  me,  my  dear  fellow.  I  am  the 
original  egotist." 

The  white-haired  lady  was  moved  to  precisely 
the  same  degree  but  to  more  useful  results.  With  a 
song  on  her  lips  .and  a  mother-smile  on  her  again 
beautiful  face  she  quietly  and  surreptitiously  fol- 
lowed the  Commodore  from  upset  to  upset,  spread- 
ing oil  on  troubled  waters  and  placating  a  distraught 
menage  with  soothing  and  serviceable  words.  She 
got  Martha  to  pick  a  bunch  of  early  spring  flowers 
and  spent  an  hour  of  the  most  exquisite  happiness 
arranging  them  on  the  massive  pieces  of  colonial 
furniture  in  Bill's  bedroom  and  the  low-ceilinged 
sitting  room  which  connected  with  it.  And  all  the 
while  her  mind  was  flooded  with  memories  of  a  little 
boy  and  his  needs  and  stories  and  precious  posses- 
sions, and  the  odd  sweet  things  that  he  used  to  say 
in  those  far  distant  hours  when  he  would  sit  on  the 
floor  with  Robinson  Crusoe  and  keep  up  a  constant 
prattle  while  her  hair  was  being  done  for  dinner. 
Once  more  she  felt  the  fresh  healthy  cheek  pressed 
against  her  breast  and  the  strong  young  arms  about 
her  neck.  "  Oh  God,"  she  cried  out  aloud,  as  she 
stood  looking  with  wet  eyes  at  a  little  photograph 


80  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

of  herself  with  the  chubby  Bill  on  her  lap,  "if  only 
my  dreams  had  come  true  and  I  had  been  permitted 
by  Fate  to  marry  where  my  heart  was.  Bill  would 
have  been  a  different  man  to  come  back  to  me !  " 
And  it  was  at  that  moment  that  the  second  twinge 
of  conscience  attacked  her  as  the  vision  of  Martha 
Wainwright  stood  momentarily  before  her,  slim  and 
virginal  and  trusting.  But  once  again,  because 
Bill  was  bone  of  her  bone  and  flesh  of  her  flesh,  she 
dismissed  pity  from  her  mind.  For  all  his  frail- 
ties, Bill  was  a  man  that  any  woman  should  be  proud 
to  possess. 

But  it  was  Martha  who  caught  the  first  sight  of 
Bill. 

Standing  among  the  same  belt  of  trees  on  the  hil- 
lock at  the  bend  of  the  road  from  which  she  had 
watched  him  drive  away,  she  waited  hour  after  hour 
until,  at  last,  she  was  rewarded  by  the  flash  of  his 
profile  as  a  car  flicked  past.  He  saw  the  young 
figure  against  the  appropriate  background  of  silver 
birches,  recognized  in  her  the  pretty  child  whom  he 
remembered  having  seen  in  the  garden  with  his 
mother,  and  brought  his  hand  up  to  the  peak  of  his 
cap.  She  waved  back  —  and  he  took  away  with 
him  the  memory  of  a  smile  which  rang  a  little  bell 
in  his  soul.  What  was  her  name  ?  Bainbridge  — 
Waterhouse  —  Goodfellow?  Something  like  that, 
—  something  which  carried  with  it  a  sense  of  integ- 
rity and  honest  effort,  of  a  building  planted  on 
solid  foundations  by  people  of  sound  constitution 
and  God-fearing  spirit.  Although  he  had  never 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  81 

given  her  a  thought,  it  came  back  to  him  that  he  had 
seen  her  standing  on  that  same  small  mount  among 
the  rocks  and  trees  when  he  had  been  driven  the 
other  way  to  probable  death  and  he  was  glad,  in 
that  throe  of  sentiment,  to  see  her  there  again.  It 
gave  him  a  feeling  of  returning  to  find  things  unal- 
tered, untouched,  of  having  been  overlooked  by  the 
devil's  eye  and  left  undesecrated  by  the  ingenious 
weapons  of  destruction. 

He  little  knew  with  what  an  exquisite  pang  of 
joy  Martha  cried  out  to  herself  "  He  remembers ! 
He  remembers!"  or  how  she  took  back  to  her 
duties  at  home  a  love  which  burgeoned  in  her  heart. 

IV 

THE  Old  Rip,  deaf  to  all  suggestions,  unamenable 
to  any  change  in  his  definite  program,  and  as 
peppery  as  an  Anglo-Indian  Colonel  before  an  in- 
spection by  the  Commander-in-Chief,  arranged  the 
household  on  the  steps  of  the  portico  a  good  twenty 
minutes  before  Bill's  car  was  timed,  bar  accidents, 
to  arrive.  Made  up  as  the  country  gentleman  in 
one  of  those  stunted  top  hats  of  brown  felt  which, 
according  to  "  Punch  ",  are  worn  by  squires  at  prize 
cattle  shows,  a  pepper-and-salt  coat  with  large  flap 
pockets,  and  riding  breeches  with  doeskin  gaiters, 
he  took  his  place  on  the  bottom  step  with  the  white- 
haired  lady.  He  had  finally  arrived  at  this  costume 
after  several  complete  changes,  and  his  nerves  were 
almost  as  frazzled  as  those  of  Denham,  who  had 
brought  the  indecision  as  to  appropriate  garments 


82  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

to  an  abrupt  and  icy  ending  by  flinging  up  his  hands 
and  crying  out,  "  I  hope  the  Lord  will  send  a 
bloomin'  angel  after  me  before  I  dribble  into  this 
'ere  kind  of  second  childhood !  " 

In  the  order  of  what  he  chose  to  consider  their 
importance  the  Commodore  had,  after  much  bick- 
ering and  many  stamps  of  the  foot,  arranged  his 
staff,  as  he  suddenly  took  it  into  his  head  to  call  it, 
on  the  upper  steps.  By  insisting  on  placing  Mrs. 
Porter,  the  shapeless  housekeeper,  in  front  of  Al- 
bery,  he  had  given  mortal  offense  to  the  pompous 
butler  and  rendered  poor  little  Mrs.  Porter  tremu- 
lously fearful  of  her  future.  She  was  beyond  the 
time  when  she  could  stand  without  hysterics  the 
biting  sarcasm  of  that  gobbling  turkey,  as  she  had 
mentally  labelled  Albery.  Another  crassly  inju- 
dicious act  had  been  performed  by  Barclay  Morti- 
mer, the  after-effects  of  which  would  make  bad 
blood  in  the  servants'  dining  room  for  a  consider- 
able time,  by  his  ordering  Denham  to  stand  below 
Tasker,  the  head  coachman,  who  had  been  with  the 
family  man  and  boy  for  fifty  years.  "  The  derned 
valet,  by  gosh,"  was  fully  alive  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  forced  into  an  invidious  position  against 
his  better  judgment,  and  being  already  in  a  state 
of  absolute  disruption,  after  several  unholy  hours 
with  the  Old  Buck,  could  hardly  listen  to  the  long 
string  of  murmured  insults  from  the  irate  old  man 
behind  him  without  blowing  up.  As  to  Mrs.  Fos- 
dick,  the  cook,  one  glance  at  her  crab-apple  face  was 
enough  to  indicate  the  gross  indignity  which  had 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  83 

been  put  upon  her.  Just  because  Ada,  the  compar- 
atively new  waitress,  possessed  the  come-hither  in 
her  bold  brown  eyes,  wore  skirts  which  showed  a 
little  more  than  the  flutter  of  neat  ankles  and  had 
russet  hair  in  which  there  were  streaks  of  copper, 
the  master  had  told  her  to  stand  in  front  of  the  eld- 
erly dame  who  had  been  the  queen  of  the  kitchen  for 
so  many  years.  It  was  enough  to  make  a  body 
prance  out  of  the  house  without  giving  notice  and 
leave  the  ungrateful  family  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
a  slap-dash  Irish  woman  who  only  knew  how  to 
cook  for  a  priest,  that  it  was.  The  remainder  of 
the  menage,  consisting  of  the  gardeners,  maids  and 
stable-hands,  stood  under  the  portico  in  any  order 
they  chose,  but  the  amazing  blunders  in  servant 
precedence  thus  willfully  committed  had  left  them 
stultified  and  surly.  There  were  more  than  ample 
grounds  in  all  this  for  the  Trades  Union  of  Con- 
descending Helpers  of  the  Household  to  order  an 
immediate  strike. 

From  time  to  time,  during  the  period  of  waiting, 
the  Old  Rip  wheeled  around  and  glared  at  the  dis- 
satisfied group  of  muttering  people  behind  him  and 
brought  about  a  temporary  stoniness  by  shouting, 
with  his  best  parade  rasp,  "  Let  there  be  silence, 
please."  And  all  the  while,  completely  indifferent 
to  the  clash  of  temperament  that  was  all  about  her, 
the  white-haired  lady  waited,  with  a  little  smile 
playing  round  her  mouth,  to  feel,  once  again,  the 
strong  arms  of  her  only  son. 

Old  Glory  floated  above  the  house  in  Bill's  honor, 


84  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

side  by  side  with  the  banners  of  the  Allies,  and  a 
dozen  Boy  Scouts  of  all  sizes  were  drawn  up  on  the 
lawn  to  cheer  themselves  hoarse.  It  was  a  terrible 
but  well-earned  ordeal  through  which  Bill  was  to 
be  forced  to  go. 

As  the  car  came  through  the  old  gates  and  bowled 
along  the  wide  road,  the  boughs  of  trees  under 
whose  protecting  shade  the  spirits  of  departed  Mor- 
timers seemed  to  hover,  bent  to  welcome  the  one 
to  whom  they  looked  to  perpetuate  the  name,  and  the 
air  rang  with  the  thin  cries  of  the  lads  on  the  lawn. 

Bill  gave  one  quick  nervous  glance  at  all  this 
ghastly  fuss  for  which,  knowing  his  father,  he  was 
partially  prepared,  thanked  all  his  stars  that  he  had 
been  spared  the  village  band,  sprang  out  from  among 
his  baggage,  caught  his  mother  in  his  arms  and  held 
her  tight.  Then  he  turned  to  Barclay  Mortimer, 
whose  over-massaged  face  was  twisted  with  emo- 
tion, flung  an  arm  round  his  shoulder  and  kissed 
him  as  he  had  always  done  when,  as  a  boy,  he  had 
joined  him  for  the  holidays.  The  old  man  tried 
to  utter  the  opening  sentences  of  a  well-prepared 
speech,  stammered,  stumbled,  and  burst  into  tears. 
In  all  his  reprobate  life  never  before  had  he  felt  so 
genuine  an  acknowledgment  of  God's  goodness  as  at 
that  moment.  The  boy  loved  him  and  he  gave 
great  praise. 

And  then,  facing  the  old  house  which  had  never 
amounted  to  a  row  of  beans  before  but  which,  in 
his  new  mood,  stood  for  home  and  a  wife,  a  young 
Bill  and  a  tiny  Lylyth,  Bill's  face  broke  into  its 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  85 

usual  sunny  grin,  and  he  mounted  the  steps,  with  his 
arm  round  his  mother's  waist,  grasped  one  after 
another  of  the  eager  hands  that  were  stretched  out 
to  him,  indignities  forgotten  for  the  time  being, 
achieved  the  hall  and  finally  the  drawing-room  and 
stood  alone  once  more  with  the  white-haired  lady 
whose  peccadillos  he  knew  and  condoned,  whose 
former  beauty  and  invincibility  he  had  admired  and 
marveled  at,  and  whose  deep  love  and  services  he 
could  never,  never  forget. 

"  Mum,"  he  said,  "  my  own  darling  Mum." 

And  they  stood  and  whispered  broken  words  to 
each  other,  under  the  eyes  of  dead  Mortimers,  while 
the  Commodore,  himself  again,  doled  out  dollar 
bills  to  the  uneven  Boy  Scouts,  the  beaming  and  be- 
nign Squire  to  the  life. 

And  in  the  house  of  honest  effort  away  behind 
the  trees,  Martha  Wainwright,  marked  out  to  be 
"brought  forward  "  as  the  mother  of  a  new  genera- 
tion of  Mortimers,  wrote  out  her  list  of  groceries 
with  little  pearls  of  joy  dropping  on  the  slip. 

And  so  wags  the  world. 

V 

"  You  have  had  the  extreme  privilege  of  lead- 
ing your  mother  to  her  after-dinner  resting  place, 
my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  Commodore,  "but  I'll  be 
damned  if  I  '11  forego  my  right  to  arrange  her 
cushions." 

With  that  low  soft  laugh  of  hers  which,  in  the 
old  days,  had  more  than  once  made  Barclay  Morti- 


86  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

mer  too  keenly  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  stood  be- 
fore her  stripped  of  his  poses,  the  white-haired 
lady  turned  from  her  son  to  her  husband.  "  How 
nice  to  be  fought  over  by  two  such  handsome  men," 
she  said. 

Whereupon  Bill  gave  her  up  and  backed  away 
laughing.  It  was  an  utterly  new  thing  for  him  to 
see  his  father  and  mother  permanently  under  the 
same  roof  and  behaving  like  elderly  lovers  in  a 
Sheridan  play.  It  gave  him  great  amusement  as 
well  as,  he  had  to  confess,  an  odd  sensation  of  pain. 

In  return  for  her  flattery  Mortimer  bowed  pro- 
foundly, —  as  profoundly,  that  is,  as  his  stays 
would  permit,  —  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and, 
with  more  than  his  usual  mixture  of  courtesy  and 
respect,  piled  cushions  at  the  head  of  the  Colonial 
sofa.  He  was  in  the  highest  spirits  and  so  frankly 
happy  in  this  reunion  that  he  radiated  good  humor. 
His  hair  had  been  waved  for  the  occasion  and  his 
mustache  curled  back  with  a  hot  iron.  The  rib- 
bon of  the  Legion  d'Honneur  made  a  red  spot  on 
the  lapel  of  his  tight  fitting  dinner  jacket. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  allowed  herself  to  be  placed  upon 
the  sofa  and  smiled  up  at  Bill  over  the  shoulders  of 
the  Old  Rip  as  he  bent  to  arrange  her  skirt  about  her 
feet.  This  was  one  of  the  good  moments  to  which 
she  had  been  looking  forward  during  every  one  of 
the  long  hours  of  two  desperately  anxious  years, 
and  her  heart  seemed  still  to  float  in  tears. 

"  Sit  near  me,  Bill,"  she  said. 

"  We  will  both  sit  near  you,  Madame.     I  decline 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  87 

to  be  made  to  agonize  under  the  pangs  of  jealousy 
by  this  intruder  to  our  Paradise."  And  the  old  man 
guffawed  at  the  joke  none  could  appreciate  so  fully 
as  those  who  knew  him  so  well.  They  were  his  best 
audience. 

"  I  '11  just  dash  up  and  get  my  pipe,"  said  Bill. 
"  I  can't  smoke  anything  else." 

And  the  instant  that  he  left  the  morning  room 
and  went  whistling  to  the  stairs  a  change  came  over 
the  father  and  mother.  Dropping  their  artificial 
spirit  of  comedy  and  badinage  they  drew  instinc- 
tively together,  alone  for  the  first  time  since  the 
return  of  the  one  person  on  earth  who  united  them 
in  unselfishness. 

"  Lylyth,  you  were  right.  He  's  not  the  same 
man,"  said  Mortimer,  eagerly. 

"  Sssh !  —  lower  your  voice.  .  .  .  Yes,  he  's  al- 
tered. A  hundred  little  things  that  he  has  said 
make  it  plain.  His  very  look  proves  it.  But 
don't  let  him  guess  that  we  Ve  been  planning  for  his 
future  or  making  a  scheme  to  lead  him  into  mar- 
riage. Promise  me  that." 

:l  You  have  my  word,  my  dear.  Men  hate  to  be 
discussed  and  coerced.  We  must  let  him  appear  to 
work  out  his  own  salvation  while  we  pull  the 
strings  unseen.  Already  I  can  hear  the  creaking 
of  a  cradle." 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  one  great  fear,  Barclay." 

"Good  God,  what?" 

"  That  girl,  Hatch.  He  has  come  back  full  of 
generosity  and  sentiment.  It  is  n't  at  all  impossible 


88  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

that  he  may  want  to  do  what  you  men  in  his  mood 
have  often  done  before  and  make  her  a  good  wo- 
man, as  it 's  called." 

Mortimer  stood  aghast.  "  An  appalling 
thought,"  he  said.  "  What  on  earth  has  put  it  into 
your  head  ?  " 

"  A  knowledge  of  your  sex.  History  reeks  with 
instances.  Therefore  we  must  go  warily.  If  he 
has  built  a  romance  round  Susan  Hatch  we  must 
undermine  it  not  by  arguments  but  by  apparent 
agreement  and  the  production  at  the  right  moment 
and  in  the  right  manner  of  the  girl  who  has  always 
been  good.  He  comes  to  us  inspired  to  regenera- 
tion. Only  by  virtue  can  this  be  achieved,  —  and 
if  this  is  not  in  his  mind  we  must  put  it  there.  .  .  . 
How  .  .  .  how  good  to  have  him  home  again ! " 

The  Commodore,  forgetting  that  he  had  learned 
the  gesture  from  his  Italian  inamorata  in  the  Villa 
Fiora,  raised  his  hands  to  Heaven.  "  Whatever 
else  I  omitted  to  give  him,"  he  said,  "  I  was  lavish 
in  the  gift  of  looks.  .  .  .  We  might  easily  be  taken 
for  brothers,  don't  you  think,  Madame  ?  "  And  al- 
though he  chuckled  away  the  edge  of  this  conceit  he 
squared  his  shoulders  and  puffed  out  his  chest  and 
gave  a  fluke  to  his  absurd  mustache.  Then,  with 
a  sudden  return  to  seriousness  and  in  a  voice  quiv- 
ering with  a  kind  of  pathetic  eagerness  he  added, 
"  I  leave  the  matter  of  Bill's  marriage  entirely  in 
your  hands,  Lylyth.  For  God's  sake  see  that  I 
have  the  joy  and  satisfaction  of  riding  a  grandson 
on  my  knee  before  I  answer  to  the  summons." 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  89 

"  It  is  the  last  object  of  my  life,"  replied  Mrs. 
Mortimer.  "I  will  leave  no  stone  unturned,  no 
trick  untried,  no  diplomacy  unexercised  to  achieve 
it.  Rely  upon  me.  .  .  .  Talk  about  something  else, 
quickly.  He  is  on  the  stairs." 

The  Old  Buck  rose  to  the  occasion.  "  It  was  King 
Edward  who  sent  for  me  to  his  box  in  the  Royal 
Enclosure  at  Ascot  that  year,"  he  said  loudly,  as 
though  in  the  middle  of  one  of  his  anecdotes,  "  and 
in  that  inimitable  way  of  his  congratulated  me  on 
the  ....  Ah,  here  you  are,  my  boy.  I  wish  I 
could  join  you  in  a  pipe.  I  have  never  managed  to 
achieve  the  habit."  He  gave  a  side  glance  at  his 
wife  to  catch  her  look  of  appreciation  and  lowered 
himself  carefully  into  an  arm-chair.  An  artist  in 
worldliness  he  was,  and  so  remained,  he  thanked  his 
stars. 

Bill  beamed  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other,  and 
so  that  there  might  be  no  jealousy  at  his  favoritism 
of  either  took  up  a  stand  in  front  of  the  old  fire- 
place, with  his  back  against  the  mantel-board. 
God,  how  often,  out  there  in  that  waterlogged  funk- 
hole,  he  had  longed  for  this  moment,  and  wrapped 
his  parents  and  his  home  about  with  a  veil  of  ideal- 
ism! ...  A  simple  soul,  this  Bill  Mortimer, 
loving  happiness  and  ease  and  the  game  of  life; 
without  an  ounce  of  guile,  perfectly  ready  to  pay 
and  pay  generously  for  whatever  gave  him  pleasure ; 
a  heart  instantly  moved  to  sympathy  and  kindness 
towards  women  and  men  and  beasts,  susceptible  to 
beauty  to  a  degree  even  beyond  that  which  had  car- 


90  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

ried  his  father  into  similar  feminine  embarrass- 
ments, and  so  good-natured  that  it  was  as  easy  to 
lead  him  by  the  nose  as  any  school-boy.  Deep 
down  in  his  soul,  too,  there  was  a  sense  of  poetry 
and  a  definite  ache  for  permanency  which,  awakened 
by  all  that  he  had  seen  of  death  and  destruction, 
made  him  almost  as  pathetic  a  figure  as  the  two  old 
people  who  had  been  forced  to  slip  into  the  back- 
waters and  who  had  utterly  lost  the  chance  that  re- 
mained to  him,  if  he  knew  how  to  take  it,  of  twist- 
ing his  rudder  into  mid-stream  and  turning  his 
pleasure  craft  into  a  cargo  boat. 

"  I  love  this  room,"  he  said,  running  his  dark 
eyes  over  the  things  among  which  he  had  grown  up. 
"  And  how  corking  all  the  old  stuff  looks.  I  hope 
I  have  the  luck  to  bring  home  the  sort  of  girl  who 
won't  call  it  junk  and  want  to  pitch  it  neck  and  crop 
into  the  garden." 

The  Old  Rip  and  the  white-haired  lady  exchanged 
a  quick  signal.  Away  went  their  anxiety  as  to  the 
Hatch  person.  He  had  built  up  a  picture  of  an  un- 
known girl. 

"  Bill !  .  .  .  Surely  you  are  not  thinking  of  be- 
ing conventional  at  your  age?"  Mrs.  Mortimer 
asked  the  question  with  the  most  perfect  simulation 
of  lightness,  —  to  hang  on  his  answer  with  held 
breath.  Little  he  knew  how  splendidly  he  helped 
the  great  plan  by  touching  so  soon  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  it. 

'  Yes,  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  am,"  he  said  simply. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  cried  the  Old  Rip,  "  if  you 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  91 

flung  a  bomb  in  our  midst  you  could  n't  surprise  us 
as  much."  He  was  a  master  in  the  art  of  picking 
up  cues. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Bill,  watching  his  smoke 
filter  into  the  air.  He  made  a  fine  figure  in  his 
uniform,  in  spite  of  its  high  collar  and  lack  of  belt. 
"  But  I  may  as  well  be  frank  with  you  right  away 
and  get  it  over.  Bill 's  going  to  be  a  good  boy  now 
and  play  the  little  old  game  of  domesticity.  That 's 
the  truth.  So  find  me  a  wife,  Mother,  and  I  '11 
show  you  how  serious  I  am." 

It  was  almost  too  good  to  be  true,  well  and 
shrewdly  as  she  had  banked  on  this  change  of  mood. 
"  My  dear  Bill,"  she  said,  controlling  the  ecstatic 
Commodore  by  raising  one  long  finger,  "  is  n't  that 
rather  a  large  order?  Who  do  I  know  now  that  I 
am  out  of  the  world?  Besides,  there  are  compli- 
cations in  the  shapes  of  Susie  Hatch,  Birdie  Gar- 
roll,  Jeanne  Dacoral  and  the  rest." 

"  A  washout,"  he  said.  "  Bill 's  plumping  for 
respectability  these  days.  He  's  all  for  being  the 
little  gentleman  now."  It  was  an  amusing  habit  of 
his  to  refer  to  himself  in  the  third  person  as  he  had 
done  as  a  youngster. 

The  two  great  sighs  of  relief  of  the  disrespectable 
parents  joined  forces  in  mid-air  and  went  paradox- 
ically to  the  gates  of  Heaven. 

"  It 's  like  this,  my  dears,"  he  went  on  before 
they  could  play-act  again.  "  One  had  a  certain 
amount  of  time  for  thinking  out  there,  and  pretty 
straight  thoughts  at  that.  I  saw  myself  with  a  bit 


92  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

of  a  shock  with  the  best  half  of  my  life  behind  me 
and  nothing  but  a  record  of  darned  good  times  to 
show  for  it.  And  at  the  end  of  it  all,  and  durirfg 
those  days  after  the  armistice  when  a  sort  of  let- 
down feeling  crept  over  us  all,  and  playing  the  vic- 
tor business  began  to  pall  like  the  devil,  I  put  to  my- 
self this  question.  What  in  fairness  are  you  going 
to  do,  Bill,  old  son,  to  show  your  gratitude  for  hav- 
ing been  let  off?  And  the  answer  was  obvious. 
Go  home,  and  if  luck's  still  with  you  hunt  about  for 
the  sort  of  dear  sweet  soul  who  will  fit  the  bill  ac- 
cording to  mother  and  you,  Dad,  and  the  old  gentle- 
men who  have  frowned  down  at  me  from  these 
walls  ever  since  I  was  a  nipper.  And  so  I  Ve  come 
home  with  nothing  in  my  mind  except  this  new  job, 
—  the  peace  job,  and  now  that  I'm  here  and  the 
whole  atmosphere  seems  to  egg  me  on  to  it  I  want 
you  to  help  me,  because  I  'm  a  boob  at  the  business 
and  'pon  my  soul  I  hardly  know  how  to  begin  to 
say  things  to  Miss  Respectable.  Wait  a  second. 
Let  me  get  the  rest  of  it  off  my  chest  before  I  get 
self-conscious  and  do  the  clam  act.  You  mentioned 
Susan  Hatch  and  the  rest,  Mother,  and  I  said  that 
they  're  a  washout.  That 's  so.  They  belong  to 
the  good  old  days.  But,  —  and  this  is  what  sticks 
in  my  gills,  —  is  there  a  Miss  Respectable  knocking 
about  who  will  take  me  on  when  I  play  honest  and 
tell  her  the  Story,  however  Bowdlerized?  And 
that 's  what  I  shall  be  expected  to  do,  I  take  it  ?  " 

He  came  to  an  end  and  looked  from  one  eager 
listener  to  the  other  with  a  very  apparent  desire  to 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  93 

be  encouraged  in  the  matter  of  his  leaf -turning  and 
discouraged  on  the  question  of  his  scrupulousness. 

At  once  he  got  what  he  wanted  on  both  counts. 

Barclay  Mortimer  struggled  dramatically  to  his 
feet  and  put  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder  with 
spontaneous  affection.  "  God  bless  you,  Bill,"  he 
said.  "  It  was  only  necessary  for  you  to  tell  us  this 
to  make  to-day  the  happiest  of  my  life." 

The  white-haired  lady  rose  too,  and  slipped  one 
long-fingered  hand  through  her  son's  arm.  "  I 
echo  that,  thankfully,  my  dear,  and  of  course  I  will 
help  you,  —  though  at  the  moment  my  mind  is  a 
blank,  and  as  to  the  need  for  you  to  worry  about 
certain  chapters  in  the  book  as  you  have  written  it 
there  is  none.  Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead. 
More  harm  than  good  is  done  by  taking  a  young 
thing  with  her  eyes  on  the  future  for  a  gloomy  visit 
to  the  catacombs.  Besides,  this  is  the  twentieth 
century,  and  the  modern  girl  does  not  demand  per- 
fection. Egotistical  confessions  of  youthful  follies 
made  to  Innocence  in  discreetly  lighted  conserva- 
tories went  out  with  the  stuffed  canary  and  the 
draped  Venus.  It  would  be  received  to-day  with  a 
peal  of  laughter  and  an  outburst  of  chaff." 

"  Oh,"  said  Bill.  "  Well,  that 's  the  best  thing 
I  've  heard  for  a  long  time.  It  puts  my  tail  up  no 
end."  And  he  whistled  the  first  few  bars  of  an  old 
regimental  song  as  much  to  show  his  relief  as  to 
bring  the  blood  pressure  of  the  room  back  to  nor- 
mal. He  had  never  seen  his  father  so  parental  be- 
fore. He  realized  with  deep  regret  that  age  had  got 


94  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

hold  of  him,  in  spite  of  his  bitter  fight.  Nor  had  he 
ever  seen  his  mother  so  confident,  so  electrical,  and 
so  supremely  a  mistress  of  life.  He  was  glad  that 
he  had  pulled  down  his  fourth  wall  at  once  and  let 
them  see  into  the  sanctum  of  his  heart. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  added  suddenly,  "  don't  run 
away  with  the  idea  that  I  've  got  to  fall  passionately 
in  love  and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  am  going  to  be 
difficult  to  please.  I  've  been  through  that  phase, 
I  'm  sorry  to  say,  —  sorry  because  I  can't  look  for- 
ward to  it  as  something  not  yet  done,  if  you  know 
what  I  mean.  I  shall  be  so  grateful  to  the  right 
little  soul  who  will  do  me  the  honor  to  become  my 
wife  that,  although  there  will  be  no  first  lover  stuff 
about  me,  there  will  be  a  frightfully  keen  desire  to 
make  her  happy  in  every  other  conceivable  way. 
Having  turned  over  a  new  leaf  I  '11  see  that  I  do  my 
derndest  to  make  it  a  good  'un.  I  want  you  to  get 
that.  In  other  words,  I  'm  so  bursting  keen  to 
settle  down  at  last  and  play  the  game  for  all  I  'm 
worth  that  it 's  —  it 's  pathetic." 

He  was  glad  of  the  excuse  to  cross  the  room  for 
a  match.  In  his  jerky  colloquial  way  he  had  let 
himself  go  and  there  was  something  suspiciously 
like  a  quiver  in  his  voice. 

And  so  the  first  evening  of  Bill's  home  coming 
was  brought  to  an  end  with  everybody's  cards  on 
the  table,  except  the  one  on  which  Martha  Wain- 
wright's  flower-like  face  was  painted.  And  this  the 
white-haired  lady  held  up  her  sleeve  for  future  use, 
in  what  she  conceived  to  be  the  right  way. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  95 

Barclay  Mortimer,  seeing  his  chance  to  improve 
the  occasion  with  a  few  well-rounded  platitudes  of 
the  kind  that  he  had  written  to  his  son  in  his  fa- 
mous series  of  letters,  —  Emerson,  Ruskin  and  de  la 
Rochefoucauld  had  been  his  inspirers,  —  would  have 
taken  the  stage  had  he  not  received  a  quick  signal 
from  his  wife.  With  an  unselfishness  that  was  so 
new  as  to  be  startling  he  took  the  hint,  saved  his 
remarks  for  a  more  propitious  occasion  and  let 
well  enough  alone.  It  was  a  gigantic  triumph  of 
matter  over  mind.  Instead,  being  on  his  feet,  he 
pom-pomed  about  the  room  so  that  Bill  might  ad- 
mire his  slimness.  Things  looked  good  and  he  was 
as  proud  of  his  wife's  perspicacity  as  he  was  of  his 
power  to  back  her  up.  He  was,  also,  eternally 
grateful  to  the  war  for  its  putting  him  in  the  way  of 
becoming  a  grandfather,  —  the  one  remaining  am- 
bition of  his  life. 

"  Well,"  he  said  finally,  "  bed  's  a  good  place,  I 
think,  eh  Madame  ?  " 

"  I  think  so  too,"  replied  Mrs.  Mortimer. 

"  I  '11  go  out  and  walk  up  and  down,"  said  Bill, 
"if  it 's  all  the  same  to  you.  I  want  to  taste  the 
old  scent  of  the  garden  and  make  certain  that  this 
is  not  one  of  my  dreams.  Good  night,  Mum  dar- 
ling. You  '11  work  things  right.  You  always  did. 
Good  night,  Dad,  old  man.  Take  me  on  to-morrow 
for  a  round  of  golf  and  beat  me." 

Golf !  He  had  n't  touched  a  club  for  five  years, 
and  he  could  n't  do  much  more  than  touch  one  now, 
trussed  up  in  those  stays  of  his,  But  the  sugges- 


96  .  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

tion  that  he  was  still  a  hefty  fellow,  by  Gad,  pleased 
him  beyond  words  and  he  threw  himself  into  a  Braid 
attitude  before  an  imaginary  ball  and  laughed. 
"  Eleven  o'clock  on  the  first  tee,"  he  said,  "  with  all 
the  pleasure  in  life."  It  would  be  easy  to  tell  Den- 
ham  to  come  after  him  and  fetch  him  back  on  a 
matter  of  the  most  urgent  importance.  Anyway, 
that  wonderful  suit  of  golf  clothes  would  get  an 
airing. 

The  white-haired  lady  kept  a  perfectly  straight 
face. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  Bill,  "  what 's  the  name 
of  that  charming  little  girl  who  used  to  come  and 
see  you  before  we  went  into  the  old  push  ?  " 

It  was  a  question  that  caused  the  old  people  al- 
most to  jump  out  of  their  skins.  Surely  there  must 
be  something  occult  in  all  this. 

"Do  you  mean  Martha  Wainwright?"  asked 
Mrs.  Mortimer,  hiding  the  gleam  in  her  eyes  by 
bending  over  the  sofa. 

"That's  it,"  said  Bill.  "  Martha  —  suggestive 
of  pansies  and  sweet-williams,  and  Wainwright  of 
an  anvil,  hit  hard  and  well.  By  Jove  yes.  That 's 
it." 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  Old  Mortimer  touched 
the  cheeks  of  a  bunch  of  lilies-of-the-valley  to  show 
that  he  was  only  faintly  and  politely  interested. 

"  I  saw  her  standing  on  the  hill  at  the  bend  of  the 
road  after  I  'd  said  good-by,  and  she  was  there 
again  to-day  when  I  drove  up.  The  last  and  the 
first.  Somehow  she  made  me  feel  that  I  'd  come 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  97 

back  to  find  nothing  changed  here.  I  liked  it  aw- 
fully. Does  she  still  come  over  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Every  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer. 

"  Oh,  good." 

Good?  It  was  astounding,  thrilling,  full  of  a 
predestination  that  made  Bill's  search  for  a  wife 
almost  an  accomplished  fact.  .  .  .  Good  Heavens, 
what  an  effort  it  was  for  the  Old  Rip  to  hold  his 
tongue.  Sooner  or  later,  before  he  went  to  bed  that 
epoch-making  night,  something  had  to  go,  —  and 
it  went  as  soon  as  he  stood  with  his  wife  on  the  wide 
corridor  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"  My  love,"  he  whispered,  "  the  fairies  were 
abroad  when  you  were  born,"  and  he  kissed  her  on 
the  cheek. 

"  Bad  fairies,"  thought  the  white-haired  lady,  but 
she  smiled  and  bowed. 

And  when  Bill,  standing  on  the  road  in  the  magic 
of  the  moon,  breathed  in  the  familiar  scent  of  pines 
and  maples  and  looked  about  him  at  the  old  scene  of 
his  boyhood,  it  was  in  the  direction  of  the  Wain- 
wright  house  behind  the  woods  that  his  eyes  turned 
unconsciously. 

Martha  was  asleep,  dreaming  —  dreaming.  And 
under  her  pillow,  as  usual,  was  the  photograph  of 
Bill.  Miss  Respectable.  .  .  . 


PART   III 


IMBUED  with  a  sense  of  comfort  that  was  far  too 
good  to  be  true,  Tom  Wainwright  opened  one  eye 
slowly,  cautiously  and  with  great  suspicion.  Catch- 
ing sight  of  a  large  airy  bedroom  hung  with  photo-, 
graphs  of  himself  taken  in  every  Harvard  attitude 
and  filled  with  solid  pieces  of  furniture  that  ap- 
peared to  him  to  give  it  an  atmosphere  of  almost 
painful  luxury,  he  immediately  shut  it.  ...  It  was 
a  dream,  the  old  familiar  frequently  recurring 
dream  out  of  which  he  had  come  daily,  at  unearthly 
earliness,  for  nearly  two  years,  to  find  himself  in 
the  rough  quarters  of  a  camp,  the  unspeakable  filth 
of  a  dugout  or  rolled  in  a  sleeping  bag  out  under 
the  stars.  That  idiot  phrase  "  the  glory  of  the 
trenches  "  which  had  made  so  many  men  blaspheme 
came  back  ironically  into  his  mind. 

He  opened  the  other  eye  and  recognized  his  bed- 
room, his  own  old  bedroom  of  pre-war  days,  alive 
with  memories  of  school  and  college  and  all  the 
things  of  peace  that  had  been  knocked  edgeways  by 
the  hideous  cataclysm  which  had  sent  the  whole 


100  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

world  reeling  and  staggering  and  left,  it  is  to  be 
hoped,  a  mark  on  every  individual  member  of  Euro- 
pean governments  by  which  they  may  be  identified 
for  Hell.  "  Theirs  the  blame,  and  theirs  the  shame 
and  theirs  the  ultimate  tears." 

Was  he  home  again?  Could  this  be  that  honest- 
to-goodness  house  in  which  he  had  lived  through 
years  of  unbelievable  comfort?  .  .  .  From  Camp 
Upton  and  all  its  chaos  and  cloying  sand  to  a  troop- 
ship packed  like  a  grotesque  box  of  sardines;  from 
troopship  to  debarkation  at  the  back-end  of  muddle ; 
from  mud,  rain,  growling  and  little  flares  of  mu- 
tiny; forced  marches,  bedraggled  train  journeys  to 
rear  lines  marked  with  the  remainders  of  previous 
regiments ;  front  line  funk-holes,  monotonous  vistas 
of  pock-marked  earth  and  battered  barbed-wire 
poles,  blind  rushes  through  the  shambles  of  death 
to  ruined  villages ;  finally  the  utter  boredom  of  Ger- 
man billets  to  —  what?  It  had  been  a  long,  long 
way  to  Tipperary,  —  the  Tipperary  which  was  that 
very  house,  that  very  room  with  the  mementos  of 
the  best  of  his  days,  and  downstairs  his  people.  .  .  . 

Fully  awake,  but  spiritually  afraid  to  open  both 
eyes  at  once  in  case  he  might  find  that  his  furtive 
glances  had  shown  him  something  not  yet  achieved, 
Tom  Wainwright  lay  very  still.  His  hands  were 
flat  out  on  the  sheets.  "  Now  then,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  get  on  to  it.  Pull  yourself  together.  What 
happened  yesterday?"  He  set  the  machinery  of 
his  brain  at  work  and  in  a  series  of  moving, 
strangely  moving,  pictures  saw  himself  undergo  the 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  101 

emotional  welcome  of  father  and  mother  and  sister, 
the  return  home  to  a  wonderful  dinner  with  grin- 
ning servants  coming  in  and  out  of  a  well-known 
room,  and  an  evening  during  which  he  answered  a 
fire  of  questions  and  thrilled,  as  any  boy  would,  at 
the  hero-worship  that  was  given  to  him.  And  as 
he  got  these  things  and  fixed  them  one  after  another, 
and  caught  the  sounds  of  birds  singing  outside  his 
window,  of  the  breeze  making  its  friendly  rustle 
in  the  trees  that  he  had  climbed,  and  of  a  grass-cut- 
ting machine  somewhere  near  giving  out  that  steady 
whir,  which,  like  nothing  else,  seems  peculiarly  to 
belong  to  peace,  confidence  came  and  funk  left.  It 
was  all  true.  This  was  Tipperary.  ...  And  as  he 
sat  up,  tousle-headed,  and  looked  about  him  with 
affection,  he  saw  a  man  in  a  dressing-gown  shaving 
in  front  of  a,  looking  glass,  a  tall,  square-shouldered 
man  with  his  grey  hair  unbrushed  and  something 
about  the  back  of  his  neck  that  belongs  only  to  those 
who  have  kept  their  chins  high  in  the  struggle  to 
live. 

"  Damned  nice  of  the  old  man  to  come  in  and 
shave  and  not  wake  me  up,"  he  thought,  and  catch- 
ing his  father's  eyes  in  the  glass  gave  him  the  sort 
of  salute  that  he  reserved  especially  for  Brigadier 
Generals. 

"  Hello,  Dad." 

"  Hello,  Tom." 

And  they  grinned  at  each  other  from  opposite 
ends  of  the  room,  saying  in  the  eloquent  silence  of 
father  and  son  all  the  affectionate  things  which 


102  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

both  had  been  hoarding  up  for  two  years  and  could 
no  more  put  into  words  than  fly  over  the  moon. 

It  was  Tom  who  was  the  first  to  master  his  voice. 
Thank  God  he  had  had  the  luck  to  do  one  or  two 
things  of  which  that  good  old  Dad  would  not  be 
ashamed.  "  Got  to  go  up  this  morning?  "  he  asked, 
casually. 

But  Wainwright  beat  him.  No  one  could  have 
told  by  his  tone  that  this  was  not  the  most  ordinary 
of  mornings.  "  Yes,  but  I  'm  coming  down  on  the 
1 :52.  If  you  've  nothing  better  to  do,  we  might 
put  in  a  round  before  dinner." 

"  There  is  n't  anything  on  earth  better  to  do," 
said  Tom,  leaping  out  of  bed.  He  found  it  neces- 
sary to  make  a  dash  for  the  window  to  hide  the  sud- 
den twist  of  his  mouth. 

And  old  Wainwright,  who  was  n't  old,  smiled. 
It  was  a  thing  like  that  which  made  his  la- 
borious days  worth  while.  "  A  good  glass,  yours," 
he  said.  "  I  often  came  in  here  to  shave  when  you 
were  on  the  other  side." 

"  Fine,"  said  Tom,  who  never  by  any  chance  used 
it  for  such  a  purpose.  He  could  only  see  one  side 
of  his  face  in  it.  But  the  enormous  compliment 
which  had  been  paid  to  him  by  its  use  went  all  the 
way  home.  "  I  don't  think  I  '11  come  up  with  you 
this  morning,  unless  you  want  me.  I  think  I  '11 
slack  for  a  bit  and  be  domestic  for  a  change. 
Mother  and  Martha  might  like  it,  don't  you  think 
so?" 

"  Good  Lord,  yes.     I  don't  want  to  see  you  near 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  103 

the  office  until  you  've  found  your  feet,  old  man. 
Play  around  as  long  as  you  feel  like  it."  But  the 
subtle  hint  which  his  son  had  given  him  of  a  desire 
to  put  his  shoulder  to  the  civil  wheel  again  was 
worth  a  million  dollars. 

He  had  seen  and  heard  of  men,  innumerable  men, 
upon  whom  the  effects  of  war  had  reacted  very 
differently.  Some  of  them  returned  to  their  old 
haunts  with  what  appeared  to  be  an  utter  incapacity 
to  adjust  themselves  to  pre-war  conditions.  They 
shied  at  the  thought  of  sedentary  work  and  regular- 
ity. They  had  patience  for  nothing  unless  there 
was  a  girl  in  it.  If  also  there  was  music  so  much 
the  better.  But  the  former  there  must  be,  pretty 
or  not  pretty.  Others  brought  back  with  them  such 
a  sense  of  tragic  rage  and  disillusion  at  the  unutter- 
able futility  and  waste  of  their  patriotism  and  ef- 
forts, both  physical  and  spiritual,  that  they  went 
about  under  a  continual  mental  shell-shock,  out  of 
which  they  emerged  infrequently  to  curse  the  glib 
and  ignorant  politicians  who  had  already  forgotten 
the  war  and  its  causes  and  left  the  incapacitated 
men  to  the  charity  of  the  public.  Dangerous  men 
these,  imbued  with  the  sort  of  thoughts  that  are 
parochially  placed  under  the  heading  of  Bolshevism. 
Men  who  did  not  intend,  without  a  grim  and  bitter 
struggle,  to  permit  their  country  to  indulge  in  the 
old  tyrannies  of  government  without  the  consent  of 
peoples,  the  old  Fetish  worship  of  hatred  masking 
under  the  divine  name  of  Patriotism.  There  was 
that  other  set,  too,  who,  not  intellectual  enough  to 


104  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

look  back  at  the  causes  and  forward  at  the  results 
of  the  war  with  anything  but  a  sense  of  bewilder- 
ment, sneered  at  all  talk  of  readjustment,  went 
about  saying,  "  Hell,  we  paid,  who  's  going  to  pay 
us  ?  "  and  scoffed  at  the  suggestion  that  they  must 
return,  if  anyone  would  take  them,  to  their  old  dull 
jobs.  They  demanded  the  fat  of  the  land.  They 
had  earned  it.  They  stood  about  with  an  expec- 
tant and  rather  ugly  grin  waiting  to  be  spoiled. 
There  were  very  few  whose  normality  had  not  been 
jerked  out  of  balance  or  who,  like  young  Tom 
Wainwright,  were  ready  to  resume  old  ways  with 
the  same  eager  boyishness  as  before.  How  should 
there  be?  No  wonder,  therefore,  that  this  father 
left  for  his  business  with  thankfulness  in  his  heart 
and  a  joyful  surprise. 

II 

THERE  were  several  eye-openers  in  store  for  "  my 
boy  Tom  "  that  morning,  and  all  of  them  gave  him 
a  very  new  and  wonderful  insight  into  the  ways  and 
hearts  of  parents,  jerking  him  into  a  realization  of 
the  fact,  very  vaguely  appreciated  up  to  the  time 
of  his  getting  into  uniform,  that  a  son,  when  his 
people  happen  to  be  the  Wainwrights  of  the  earth, 
occupies  the  star  position  in  the  house. 

He  had  left  his  civics  in  a  condition  of  wild 
chaos  and  thus  he  expected,  unimaginatively 
enough,  to  find  them.  Instead  of  which  he  discov- 
ered them,  with  a  sort  of  shock,  in  the  most  perfect 
order.  His  socks  and  golf  stockings  had  not  only 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  105 

been  mended  but  rolled  up  separately  and  arranged 
in  platoons  in  his  drawers.  His  suits,  brushed  and 
ironed,  hung  primly  in  the  closet,  winter  to  the 
right,  summer  to  the  left.  Shoes,  treed  and  glis- 
tening, pointed  their  toes  at  him  from  a  shelf.  His 
modest  collection  of  ties  hung  decoratively  all  across 
a  bar.  In  fact,  all  his  possessions,  even  his  pipes, 
told  the  tale  of  tender  attention  and  gave  him  a 
picture  of  his  mother  working  over  his  things  again 
and  again  in  order  to  get  something  from  them  and 
to  give  something  to  him  which  is  necessary  to  the 
maternal  instinct.  A  queer  moment  for  this  hith- 
erto scatter-brained  lad,  who  had  given  and  taken 
lightly  and  never  stopped  to  look  for  anything  that 
was  n't  on  the  surface.  He  chuckled  at  all  this  as- 
tounding neatness  and  wondered  how  long  it  would 
be  before  the  old  chaos  reigned  again,  but,  able  now 
to  understand  the  meaning  behind  it,  he  metaphor- 
ically took  off  all  his  hats  to  his  mother  in  absolute 
unsheepish  gratitude.  "  Gee  whiz,"  he  said,  "  some 
Mother,  and  Martha  's  in  on  this  too.  I  '11  have  to 
do  something  for  them  both."  And  when  finally  he 
surveyed  himself  in  pre-war  clothes,  having  chucked 
his  uniform  into  the  farthest  corner  of  a  man-sized 
closet,  the  one  ambition  that  loomed  up  at  the  back 
of  his  mind  was  to  prove  to  the  women  of  his  fam- 
ily his  deep  sense  of  appreciation.  All  the  fun  to 
which  he  had  looked  forward  like  a  school-boy  on  a 
holiday  should  be  shared  with  these  two  who,  dur- 
ing his  absence,  had  shown  their  devotion  in  the 
Madonna-like  manner  of  women. 


106  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

Whatever  the  war  had  succeeded  in  developing 
in  other  men  who  had  escaped,  it  had  awakened  in 
the  cheery  Tom  something  which  would  make  him 
both  happy  and  miserable  in  his  future  life,  —  imag- 
ination. It  had  dug  under  that  casual  acceptance 
of  things  which  belongs  to  youth  and  brought  out 
the  sensitive  faculty  of  looking  over  the  wall  and 
putting  himself  in  other  people's  shoes.  And  this 
meant  the  end  of  his  old  detached  manner  of  taking 
life  and  the  supreme  individualism  and  gross  selfish- 
ness which  is  the  prerogative  of  all  young  people. 
His  two  years  of  service  added  to  his  conscious 
nearness  to  death  had  raised  a  curtain  that  would 
never  be  lowered  again.  He  had  put  his  feet  over 
the  boundary  line  between  undergraduatism  and 
manhood  and  was  thus  able  to  get  from  all  his 
things  that  were  so  neatly  arranged  the  essence  of 
those  prayers  that  came  to  him  like  scent.  .  .  . 

He  drove  his  father  to  the  station  and  stood  about 
with  him,  close,  talking  golf  and  banking  in  jerks, 
away  back  on  the  platform.  He  could  go  through 
the  "  Well-well  "  stuff  with  the  nobs  of  the  neigh- 
borhood some  other  time.  He  was  like  a  young 
brother;  he  tried  to  be.  But  the  grip  that  he  gave 
to  the  banker's  hand  and  the  glint  that  was  in  his 
eye  when  he  said  "  I  '11  meet  you.  Don't  forget 
our  match  now,"  sent  the  old  man  up  to  the  City 
with  a  warm  feeling  about  the  heart  which  nothing 
else  could  have  achieved.  Driving  the  car  as 
though  it  were  an  aeroplane  he  went  back  to  the 
house  to  show  his  mother  what  he  thought  about 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  107 

her.  To  anyone  who  had  made  a  close  study  of 
youth  in  all  its  honesty  and  naive  conceit  it  would 
have  provided  a  vast  amount  of  amusement  to  watch 
this  boy  in  sudden  realization  of  his  potency,  to  see 
him  under  the  new  emotion  of  responsibility,  the 
state  of  being  answerable  to  his  people  for  the 
proper  and  immediate  discharge  of  expressed  devo- 
tion which  would  clinch  their  happiness.  It  had 
been  growing  and  taking  shape  ever  since  he  got  up. 
It  put  his  chin  high  and  puffed  out  his  chest.  It 
made  him  feel  years  older.  It  put  the  badge  of 
high  rank  on  his  shoulders.  All  the  same  it  came 
up  against  a  huge  diffidence  and  a  worrying  eager- 
ness to  do  it  all  without  letting  it  be  seen  that  he 
was  conscious  of  the  duty  part  of  it.  He  did  n't 
knock  on  the  door  of  her  bedroom  in  the  grown-up 
way.  He  deliberately  banged  up  against  it  and 
shouted  "  Mum  "  as  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
doing  in  the  old  days  before  dashing  off  to  school. 

He  won  the  old  answer.  He  was  betting  on  it. 
"  Oh  Tom  dear,  do  be  careful,"  —  and  went  in 
laughing. 

Mrs.  Wainwright  had  breakfasted  in  her  room, 
after  a  night  distressed  by  bouts  of  bronchial  cough- 
ing. She  had  the  inevitable  appearance  of  the  in- 
valid, and  the  manner  of  the  ill  person  who  has  be- 
come unable  to  look  at  anything  without  turning 
it  to  herself.  Her  symptoms  were  the  all  absorb- 
ing facts.  Her  face  was  pale  and  her  eyes  tired  and 
little  blue  veins  marked  her  temples.  But  she  had 
expected  this  visit  and  so  had  arranged  herself  on 


108  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

the  sofa  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  in  a  new  and  becom- 
ing dressing  gown.  Her  hair  had  been  as  carefully 
brushed  and  done  up  as  though  she  were  going  to  a 
dinner  party.  She  wore  several  of  her  best  rings. 
The  room  had  been  tidied  and  put  in  order  under 
Martha's  energetic  direction  and  the  various  vases 
had  been  filled  with  newly-cut  flowers.  There  was 
something  in  this  touch  of  maternal  vanity  and  the 
desire  to  rise  above  invalidism  and  "  receive  "  with 
consideration  that  made  Tom  feel  that  the  days  of 
his  rowdy  boyhood  were  a  very  long  way  behind 
them  both. 

"  Rotten  bad  luck,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a 
feeling  of  almost  feminine  sympathy  and  went  for- 
ward not  as  "  Tom-dear-do-be-careful "  as  he  had 
wanted  to  do,  but  as  Tom  the  Man  who  had  to  be 
treated  as  such.  "  How  are  you,  mother,"  he 
said,  and  knocked  out  his  pipe  on  the  creeper  that 
grew  up  to  the  window  sill.  Always  before  he 
had  smoked  in  that  room  as  in  every  other  and 
filled  it  with  clouds  of  tobacco  in  the  usual  boy 
manner. 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that,"  she  said.  "  You  can  smoke 
here  if  you  like." 

And  this  gave  him  his  first  chance.  He  went 
over  to  her  and  kissed  her.  "  Not  now.  I  've 
learnt  a  few  things  since  I  went  away,"  and  had  the 
infinite  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  his  point  went 
home. 

After  that,  talking  hard,  about  her  things  and  not 
his  own,  he  remained  for  a  solid  hour,  although  the 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  109 

sun  called  him  and  he  was  consumed  with  a  desire 
to  get  round  to  the  garage  and  tinker  on  his  car. 
He  did  n't  walk  about  the  room  either,  taking  things 
up  and  putting  them  down  again,  being  there  merely 
as  a  matter  of  duty.  He  sat  tight  in  the  same  chair 
as  though  a  willing  fixture  and  to  every  one  of  her 
appeals  not  to  waste  his  time  paid  no  attention.  It 
was  a  masterly  piece  of  work,  performed  with  the 
most  sympathetic  artfulness  and  without  the  small- 
est possible  degree  of  filial  condescension.  His 
mother  should  see  unmistakably  that  he  liked  to  be 
with  her,  that  he  chose  to  be  with  her,  that  he  in- 
sisted on  being  with  her,  that  he  would,  in  fact, 
rather  be  with  her  than  with  any  other  person 
under  the  sun.  And  she  got  it  as  he  hoped  that 
she  would,  and  together  they  made  that  hour 
one  of  the  triumphs  of  her  life,  —  those  rare, 
beautiful,  maternal  triumphs  which  so  few 
mothers  ever  enjoy  until  their  children  have  got 
children  of  their  own  and  thus  are  able  to  appreciate 
the  fine  points  of  parenthood  and  to  understand 
how  deeply  the  small  and  apparently  trivial  things 
in  the  relations  between  child  and  parent  count  in 
the  scheme  of  life. 

And  not  once  during  the  whole  of  those  sixty 
minutes  did  Tom  permit  himself  to  talk  war  or  his 
part  in  it.  He  talked  father,  Martha,  the  black  cat, 
the  local  gossip,  servant  stuff  and  home  generally. 
He  touched  also  on  the  future  and  the  fact  that  he 
was  going  to  knuckle  down  to  work  as  soon  as  he 
had  had  a  bit  of  a  holiday.  And  then  he  got  up 


110  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

and  apologized  for  staying  so  long  and  said: 
"  Cheerio,  Mother.  The  house  won't  be  the  same 
until  you  come  down  and  show  me  what  you  've 
done  in  the  garden."  But  he  reserved  his  big  point 
for  the  moment  when  he  turned  with  his  hand  on 
the  door.  "  I  've  never  seen  anything  like  the  way 
you  've  made  my  clothes  look,  Mum.  What  can  I 
do  to  spoil  you  for  a  change  ?  " 

He  left  behind  him  a  quiver  of  electrical  emotion 
which  made  his  little  mother  clasp  her  hands  to- 
gether and  put  up  her  face  and  say  to  herself,  "  I 
have  a  good  boy,  a  very  good  boy." 

Ill 

BEFORE  going  to  the  garage  Tom  decided  to  hunt 
up  Martha,  and,  if  he  could  work  it  in  somehow 
with  any  luck,  to  say  something  to  his  kid  sister 
which  would  give  her  also  an  inkling  of  the  present 
state  of  his  feelings.  It  was  a  far  more  difficult  job 
than  the  one  that  he  had  just  performed.  It  was 
easier  to  say  things  to  a  mother  than  to  a  sister  any 
day.  What  he  would  have  given  a  great  deal  to 
be  able  to  do  was  quite  out  of  the  question.  There 
was  something  about  Martha  now  which  made  it 
impossible  to  march  up  to  her,  kiss  her  soundly  and 
put  in  words  any  of  those  things  that  were  in  his 
mind,  —  bang  out.  Then  too,  the  last  two  years 
had  taken  the  kid  part  away  from  her.  She  had  ac- 
quired that  touch  of  dignity  which  made  him  hesi- 
tate to  prove  his  affection  in  the  old  way  by  chuck- 
ing something  at  her,  yanking  her  hair,  chasing  her 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  111 

about  the  house  and  pinning  her  up  against  a  wall 
until  she  cried  Pax  and  looked  humble.  Absence 
and  Anno  Domini  had  made  some  new  way  neces- 
sary, —  he  did  n't  quite  know  what. 

He  heard  her  telephoning  in  his  father's  den. 
With  a  perfectly  natural  self -consciousness  he  drew 
up  short  at  the  door  and  took  several  turns  along 
the  hall  and  back  trying  to  get  up  a  few  sentences  of 
most  affectionate  gratitude  in  which  sloppiness 
should  be  totally  absent.  The  things  that  came 
into  his  mind  were  too  stilted  to  consider.  He 
washed  them  out  as  idiotic.  They  would  only  make 
her  laugh  at  him.  Better  be  sloppy  than  pedantic. 
The  sort  of  thing  that  was  permissible  between  a 
brother  and  sister  of  her  age  and  his  must  be  sug- 
gested rather  than  put  into  so  many  blunt  words, 
he  felt.  They  were  n't  Latins,  able  to  emote  with- 
out effort  and  revel  in  it.  Their  Anglo-Saxon 
blood  and  tradition  boxed  them  in.  He  knew  jolly 
well  that  she  loved  him,  —  there  had  been  hero-wor- 
ship in  her  eyes  the  night  of  his  return.  And  he 
knew  that  she  knew  he  loved  her  because  when  she 
had  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck  at  the  first  sight 
of  him  he  had  held  her  frightfully  tight  and  choked 
a  little.  At  the  same  time  all  the  rules  of  the  game 
demanded  some  sort  of  spoken  recognition  of  her 
loyalty  to  his  mother  and  to  himself  and  of  the  long 
drawn  out  anxiety  which  she  had  confessed  to  in 
her  letters.  .  .  .  Great  Scot,  how  was  he  to  get  it 
off  his  chest? 

He  was  inclined  to  continue  on  his  way  to  the 


112  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

garage  and  the  self-indulgence  of  pottering  at  his 
engine.  Mafiana.  But  the  discipline  which  had 
been  ground  into  him  during  the  last  two  years 
brought  him  back  to  the  door.  "  No  shirking,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  Get  it  over.  It 's  got  to  be 
done,"  —  and  he  went  in. 

Sitting  on  one  side  of  the  big  flat-topped  desk, 
with  her  feet  dangling  above  the  floor,  and  her 
young  profile  silhouetted  against  a  square  of  blue 
sky  made  by  the  open  window,  she  was  grasping  the 
telephone  in  both  hands  and  holding  her  daily  con- 
versation with  the  grocer.  Amazing  to  think  that 
only  the  other  day  she  was  sliding  after  him  down 
the  banisters  with  bobbed  hair  and  bloomers. 

"  How  much  do  you  say  they  are  this  morning? 
Two  cents  more  than  yesterday?  Then  don't  put 
them  on  the  list,  Mr.  Budel.  We  shall  have  to  live 
on  our  own  potatoes  if  you  go  on  like  this."  She 
threw  a  glance  of  welcome  at  Tom,  whom  she  had 
been  longing  to  see  alone,  and  hurried  to  an  end. 
"  Must  you  go  on  sending  me  that  mussy  looking 
sugar  ?  .  .  .  Very  well  then,  do.  But  you  or  some- 
one will  be  responsible  for  driving  the  servants 
away,  I  tell  you  that.  Oh,  and  now  that  my 
brother  's  back  —  yes,  last  night  —  I  must  have 
some  marmalade.  .  .  ." 

"  Great  work,"  said  Tom.  On  his  father's  side 
of  the  desk  there  was  that  snapshot  of  himself  taken 
in  a  funk  hole  by  Pot  Stevens,  —  the  last  he  ever 
took.  Good  old  Dad. 

"  And  do  you  still  like  jam,  Tom  ?  " 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  113 

He  ran  his  hand  circularly  over  his  diaphragm. 

"  Yes,  strawberry,  Mr.  Budel.  ..." 

"  And  how  about  some  of  those  almonds  and 
raisins  ?  " 

She  made  it  so.  It  seemed  like  the  old  holidays 
again.  "  And  don't  forget  the  ginger  ale." 

"  Imported,"  said  Tom. 

She  shook  her  head,  murmured  "  H.  C.  L.," 
added  the  word  "  domestic,"  closed  with  a  cheery 
"  Good  morning,"  and  hung  up.  "  Now  I  'm 
through,"  she  said  and  slid  off  the  desk.  He  had  on 
one  of  the  shirts  that  she  had  mended.  If  it  had 
been  too  tight  under  the  arms  then  what  would  it 
be  now  ?  He  looked  inches  broader.  She  was  glad 
that  he  had  n't  had  his  hair  cut  by  one  of  those  bar- 
bers who  ought  to  be  allowed  to  shear  nothing  but 
sheep.  How  awful  those  poor  boys  looked  with 
what  appeared  to  be  a  toupee  balanced  on  the  tiptop 
of  a  head  otherwise  bald.  Could  anybody  call  him- 
self a  barber  because  he  owned  a  few  pairs  of  clip- 
pers and  reeked  of  onions  ?  She  sensed  that  he  had 
come  to  say  something  and  longed  for  him  to  say 
it. 

And  so  there  was  an  uncomfortable  pause. 

"  Some  room,"  said  Tom,  striding  about.  He 
might  have  been  talking  to 'a  junior  officer. 

"  Yes.     I  love  it." 

"  You  camp  here  now,  I  see." 

"  I  do  mother's  job  now  that  she  can't.  I  keep 
all  the  books  here  and  the  wages  and  all  that.  And 
when  I  telephone  I  'm  not  overheard.  The  daily 


114  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

wrangle  with  the  grocer  and  butcher,  trying  to  keep 
the  bills  down."  She  laughed  and  spoke  lightly 
in  order  to  camouflage  the  slight  unsteadiness  in 
her  voice.  To  have  him  back,  —  to  see  him  doing 
precisely  what  she  had  dreamed  that  he  would  do, 
and  look  exactly  as  she  had  prayed  that  he  might 
look!  .  .  .  Suppose  she  went  over  with  a  rush  and 
put  her  face  against  his  chest  ?  Would  that  help  ? 

He  met  her  eyes  and  drew  up  short. 

But  she  felt  self-consciousness  rise  like  a  fog  be- 
tween them,  —  and  sat  down. 

"How  damned  silly!"  thought  Tom.  "If  she 
were  a  girl  I  'd  met  a  week  ago  and  proposed  to 
before  I  could  clap  a  hand  over  my  mouth  I  'd  be 
talking  poetry  to  her  by  this  time  in  a  chair  only 
large  enough  for  one."  He  loaded  and  lighted  his 
pipe,  perched  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  desk  and 
sent  out  a  cloud  of  protective  smoke  like  a  Zeppelin 
in  trouble. 

"  Father  looks  great,"  he  said. 

"  He  is,"  said  Martha. 

"  I  'd  give  a  million  if  someone  could  put  Mother 
right." 

"  So  would  I." 

"  How  about  our  painting  the  old  town  a  bit  next 
week  and  seeing  the  best  of  the  shows  ?  " 

"Oh,  Tom,  I'd  love  to!" 

"  Pick  'em  out  and  let  me  have  a  list  and  I  '11 
fix  it."  "  Bad  work,"  he  added  inwardly. 

"  But  have  n't  you  anyone  else  you  'd  rather 
take?" 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  115 

Here  was  a  chance !  He  was  going  to  say  "  I  'd 
rather  take  you,  old  girl,  than  any  other  feller's 
sister  within  a  thousand  miles,"  but  what  he  did  say 
was,  "  No,  not  just  now,"  and  metaphorically  of- 
fered himself  for  court-martial. 

But  Martha,  who  knew  brothers  backwards  and 
Tom  like  a  book,  had  got  by  this  all  that  she  needed 
from  him.  Whatever  he  had  managed  to  say  about 
his  shirts  and  however  bookishly  he  had  said  it,  it 
could  n't  have  conveyed  half  so  eloquently  the  things 
he  had  come  to  tell  her.  In  the  meantime  he  was 
itching  to  use  his  hands  on  something,  that  she 
knew.  And  she  was  keeping  him,  she  could  see. 
So  she  got  up,  energetically  threw  several  trades- 
men's books  into  a  drawer  and  slammed  it  hard. 

Tom  jumped  at  the  hint.  "  You  're  busy,"  he 
said.  "  I  '11  push  off." 

Her  fountain  pen  had  rolled  off  the  desk.  They 
bent  down  together  to  pick  it  up.  Their  heads 
met  with  a  bang.  She  snatched  a  quick  kiss  and 
they  laughed. 

It  was  all  over.  There  was  nothing  more  re- 
quired. He  knew  that  she  knew  and  away  went 
self-consciousness. 

"  I  'm  going  to  function  on  my  old  engine,"  he 
said. 

"  All  right.  I  '11  come  and  have  a  look  at  you 
when  I  've  got  things  going." 

"  Fine." 

And  then  Biddy,  —  obviously  Connemara  via 
Brooklyn,  came  in  with  a  letter. 


116  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  From  Mrs.  Mortimer,"  she  said. 

And  as  Martha  took  it  her  face  flamed  like  a 
peony. 

Tom  wheeled  round.  "  Oh,  you  know  the  Mor- 
timers, don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  I  '11  introduce  you  to  Bill  when  he  comes  home. 
Some  Major  's  old  Bill,  my  dear.  The  finest  sol- 
dier in  the  Army." 

"Is  he  ?  "  Luckily  she  was  near  enough  to  the 
desk  to  lean  over  it  and  put  the  blotting  pad  straight. 
Her  secret  was  in  her  eyes.  There  'd  be  a  burst 
of  brother  stuff  if  he  saw  it  there. 

"  Well,  so  long,  young  'un." 

And  she  was  alone  with  the  letter  against  her 
heart.  But  she  kissed  her  hand  to  the  closed  door. 
Tom  had  paid  her  the  priceless  compliment  of  in- 
viting her  to  the  theater  and  he  had  said  what  she 
most  wanted  to  hear  about  Bill. 

A  wonderful  brother,  Tom! 


IV 

SHE  ran  to  the  window  and  watched  him  go  out. 
He  swung  by  with  his  face  alight  and  his  shoulders 
back.  The  boy  whom  she  had  delighted  to  fetch 
and  carry  for  and  interrupt,  tease  and  go  about  with, 
had  grown  into  a  man.  She  thrilled  with  pride  at 
his  fitness  and  strength.  He  gave  her  a  sense  of 
personal  satisfaction  at  having  had  a  share  in  the 
war,  an  intimacy  with  the  Thing,  the  Menace,  which 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  117 

had  suddenly  died,  enabling  the  world  to  open  its 
windows  and  begin  to  tidy  up. 

And  then,  flooded  with  the  emotional  intimations 
that  she  had  grown  into  a  woman,  she  opened  Mrs. 
Mortimer's  letter.  It  was  beautiful  writing,  clear 
and  large  and  flowing,  suggestive  of  the  type  of 
woman  who  can  wear  a  tiara  without  appearing  to 
know  it  and  manage  a  train  without  making  men 
dance  on  hot  bricks  at  her  heels.  "  My  dear,"  it 
ran,  "  I  want  you  to  come  to  the  top  of  the  hill, 
where  the  Seven  Sisters  are,  at  three  o'clock  this 
afternoon,  exactly  three  o'clock.  My  love.  L.  M." 
That  was  all.  There  was  nothing  about  the  man 
who  had  haunted  her  dreams  and  filled  her  days 
with  strange  and  wonderful  thoughts  that  came  to 
her  like  bars  of  music  blown  upon  a  breeze.  There 
was  no  hint  in  these  few  equable  lines  that  she  was 
to  see  and  speak  to  the  man  about  whom  she  had 
woven  the  glamour  of  first  love  and  whom  she  had 
protected  with  the  armor  of  a  girl's  prayers.  Mrs. 
Mortimer  had  sent  many  such  notes  before  during 
the  two  long  years  which  were  over.  But  this  one 
had  been  written  in  such  excitement  and  eagerness 
that  it  sent  a  quiver  of  expectation  all  through 
Martha  as  she  read  it.  She  got  from  it  something 
that  told  her  that  she  was  to  see  Bill,  not  any  longer 
as  the  Wainw right  Kid,  the  big-eyed,  inarticulate 
girl  to  be  treated  as  a  flapper,  but  as  a  grown  person 
who  had  earned  the  right  to  be  taken  seriously,  a 
young  Eve  on  the  verge  of  womanhood,  a  com- 
petitor in  life. 


118  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

The  note  had  been  written  by  Mrs.  Mortimer 
with  Bill's  statement  of  his  feelings  still  ringing  in 
her  ears.  It  was  the  first  step  in  her  campaign  to 
bring  Martha  forward,  to  plan  a  meeting  that  should 
be  accidental  and  romantic,  up  on  the  hill  above  the 
rolling  country,  under  the  arms  of  the  seven  trees 
that  were  a  landmark  for  miles  around.  Her  plan 
was  to  be  taken  by  Bill  up  to  this  spot  from  which 
the  old  house  and  all  its  property  could  best  be  seen 
and  leave  him  with  a  prepared  excuse  to  be  found 
by  the  girl  whose  picture  he  had  painted  as  the  Miss 
Respectable  of  his  responsible  years.  Better  that 
they  should  meet  like  that,  she  thought,  applying  all 
her  feminine  cunning  to  the  fulfillment  of  her  last 
ambition,  alone  and  apparently  by  chance,  than  for- 
mally on  the  veranda  with  a  tea  table  between  them 
and  the  Commodore  near  by  with  a  tongue  that  could 
not  be  guaranteed  —  ogling  and  roguish  and  full  of 
innuendoes.  Let  Bill  fall  into  the  belief  that  he  was 
choosing  for  himself  and  not  being  coerced  into  a 
cut  and  dried  scheme.  Self-consciousness  would 
thereby  be  lessened  in  his  plan  of  attack,  if  it  came 
to  that,  and  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  gambling  that  it 
would,  knowing  Martha  and  having  listened  to  Bill. 
There  was  about  all  this  a  predestination  that  made 
a  marriage  inevitable,  but  Bill,  simple  for  all  his 
sophistication,  must  not  get  any  inkling  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  being  "  worked."  It  might  make  him 
refuse,  like  a  horse  ridden  at  a  hurdle.  There  was 
no  time  to  be  wasted  in  mistakes.  Mrs.  Mortimer 
thanked  her  stars  that  no  clever  manipulation  was 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  119 

needed  so  far  as  Martha  was  concerned.  The  child 
had  unconsciously  confessed,  —  the  rest  was  merely, 
under  the  circumstances,  a  matter  of  propinquity. 
Thank  God  it  was  springtime,  when  from  every 
bird  and  bush  the  urge  to  love  and  mate  was  diffused 
into  the  air.  Everything  was  on  the  side  of  those 
two  old  schemers  whose  one  remaining  effort  was 
to  secure  the  future  of  the  family.  The  possible 
danger  of  the  Blue  Room  was  minimized  by 
Martha's  love. 

"  Walk  into  my  parlor,"  said  the  spider  to  the 
fly 

Going  to  her  side  of  the  desk,  with  all  its  evi- 
dences of  domestic  management,  Martha  wrote  her 
acceptance  to  the  invitation.  "  Dearest  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer, expect  me  at  three  o'clock,  —  exactly  three 
o'clock  to  the  second.  Thank  you.  What  a  lovely 
day!" 

And  having  sent  it  out  to  Carlo  Cazazza,  cousin 
of  one  of  the  Wops  whose  mowing  machine  clacked 
beneath  her  window,  Martha  stood  for  a  moment  in 
the  middle  of  her  father's  den  with  life  at  full  flood 
in  her  veins,  ready  and  eager  to  meet  the  exquisite 
and  significant  experiences,  strange  and  wonderful 
and  intimate,  which  had  arranged  themselves  like 
phantoms  all  through  the  vague  years  of  her  girl- 
hood. Her  thoughts  danced  wildly  in  front  of  her 
like  fairies  through  a  wood  of  silver  birches.  They 
led  the  way  to  the  man  whose  photograph  had  been 
slipped  beneath  her  pillow  every  single  night  for  two 
tormenting  years,  —  the  man  she  had  waved  to  as 


120  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

he  had  gone  away  like  a  knight  and  waved  to  as  he 
came  back  with  the  laurels  of  victory  round  his 
head.  They  beckoned  her  to  follow  "them  out  of 
dreams  into  reality,  singing  as  they  went  .  .  . 

But  she  dared  not  move.  With  a  thumping  heart 
she  stood  very  still  and  fearful  and  tremulous.  He 
might  not  like  her.  He  might  think  that  she  was 
just  a  homely  little  person,  looking  wide-eyed  at  the 
world  as  a  newly  fledged  bird  does.  The  fact  that 
she  was  one  of  the  quiet  ones  who  did  domestic 
things  might  bore  him.  He  might  prefer,  especially 
now,  fresh  from  active  service,  the  nippy  little  de- 
butante, with  a  well-planned  disclosure  of  bosom 
and  calves,  who  talked  like  the  front  page  of  a  news- 
paper, who  darted  like  a  fish,  or,  when  jazz  was  ab- 
sent, sat  about  like  an  ancient  sphinx  in  lepidopter- 
ous  attitudes.  If  she  had  had  a  close  friend  to 
whom  she  could  have  poured  out  all  her  doubts  and 
fears  she  would  have  added  something  else.  She 
would  have  said  that  if  Bill  didn't  like  her  she 
would  still  keep  his  photograph  under  her  pillow  and 
go  to  the  grave  a  spinster.  Coming  from  a  girl  of 
not  quite  nineteen  whose  chance  to  see  and  mix  with 
men  had  been  small  owing  to  the  responsibilities 
thrown  upon  her  by  a  constantly  ill  mother  and  the 
fact  that  she  lived  beyond  the  line  of  the  ordinary 
commuter,  this  statement  would  probably  have  been 
received  with  the  usual  grain  of  salt.  The  first  love 
of  most  girls  is  a  mere  preliminary  canter  round  the 
ring.  They  force  themselves  to  fall  in  love  as  they 
force  themselves  upon  the  inadequate  dancing  space 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  121 

at  the  fashionable  hotel,  there  to  be  jostled  and 
wounded  by  a  jam  of  wriggling  lunatics.     It  is  the 
desire  to  be  smart,  the  force  of  example,  the  ina- 
bility to  refrain  from  imitation.     They  can  be  in 
love  with  several  men  at  the  same  time.     It  is  all  a 
part  of  the  inevitable  growing  pains  of  youth.     But 
Martha  was  not  in  love.     She  was  one  of  those  odd 
little  girls  who  are  constitutionally  unable  to  be 
merely  in  love.     The  Joan  of  Arc  stuff  was  in  her 
blood,  and  there  was  poetry  in  her  soul.     She  had 
really  and  truly  and  greatly  given  all  her  heart  to 
this  man.     He  was  her  hero,  the  epitome  of  her  , 
dreams   and   desires.     Already  he  had  had   three 
years  of  her  freshest  life.     He  had  been  taken  into 
the  inner  chapel  of  her  spirit.     She  had  given  him 
the  concentrated  essence  of  devotion  that  had  in  it 
the  element  of  motherhood  that  belongs  to  everlast- 
ing love,  and  without  which  marriage  has  a  pretty 
poor  chance  of  working  right.     She  was,  if  you 
like,  old-fashioned.     She  had  been  born  out  of  her 
time.     And  beyond  everything  she  had  not  under- 
gone, owing  to  family  circumstances,  the  shallow- 
ing process  of  a  modern  girl's  school.     What  she 
was  she  had  remained,  unthumbed,  unsystemized, 
unsophisticated,  —  Martha   herself.     More   herself 
for  the  constant  association  with  a  father  who  took 
life  seriously  though  with  eager  joy  and  a  mother 
whose  duties  she  had  had  to  take  upon  her  shoulders. 
Miss  Respectable  according  to  all  Bill's  innate  ideas. 


122  THE    BLUE    ROOM 


BIDDY  flung  open  the  door  of  the  den. 

"  Humphrey's  killin'  Tony,"  she  screamed. 
"  He  's  killin'  him,  I  tell  yer,"  and  rushed  out  again, 
skidding  on  the  rugs  in  the  hall,  upsetting  a  large 
pale  vase  that  was  relegated  to  sticks  and  umbrellas 
and  sending  the  sleek  cat  upstairs  with  her  tail  in 
the  air  and  every  hair  on  end. 

Accustomed  to  the  daily  dramatization  of  small 
events  which  is  ingrained  in  the  childlike  nature  of 
the  Irish,  Martha  followed  the  girl  calmly  into  the 
garden.  If  Humphrey  O'Brien  was  playfully  chas- 
ing Tony  Caruso  with  a  wood  chopper,  and  being 
the  bigger  man  he  frequently  indulged  in  this  hobby 
in  his  many  hours  of  leisure,  that  was  probably 
all  there  was  to  worry  about. 

But  when  Martha  joined  the  still  screaming  maid 
on  the  terrace  above  the  sloping  rock-garden  what 
she  saw  was  this.  The  bandy-legged  Tony,  dodg- 
ing and  jumping  like  a  squirrel,  was  frantically  es- 
caping from  the  stones  hurled  at  him  by  the  Irish- 
man who,  with  a  face  scarlet  with  rage,  was  run- 
ning him  hard.  Frightened  out  of  his  wits,  the 
little  Italian  swung  behind  bushes,  scampered  up  the 
incline  of  lawn,  leaped  from  the  ground  with  a  hand 
clapped  upon  a  wounded  spot,  turned  to  the  slope 
that  ran  down  to  a  wide  potato  patch,  caught  his 
foot  in  a  tussock  of  grass  and  went  rolling  all  the 
way  down  to  the  bottom.  Here,  hopeless  and  in  a 
dire  funk,  he  sent  out  shrill  staccato  sounds  of  oper- 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  123 

atic  terror,  while  the  chauffeur,  flatfooted  and 
flabby  from  little  exercise  and  the  habit  of  eating 
everything  in  sight,  bore  turgidly  down  upon  him. 
And  as  he  landed  his  first  kick  in  the  ribs  of  his  vic- 
tim, Biddy's  scream  was  taken  up  from  the  apple 
orchard  by  the  cook,  from  the  scullery  window  by 
the  kitchen  maid,  and  from  behind  the  woodpile  by 
Leonardo  Benvenuto,  whose  loyalty  to  his  friend 
did  not  urge  him  with  any  success  to  desert  his 
policy  of  valorous  discretion. 

It  was  a  most  enjoyable  break  in  the  monotony 
of  the  day's  routine  for  all,  —  except  Tony. 

And  then  Martha  did  things.  With  the  sure- 
footedness  of  a  mountain  goat  she  leaped  from 
stone  to  stone  of  the  rock-garden,  made  small  work 
of  lawn  and  slope,  and  finally  flung  herself  full  tilt 
against  the  bulky  chauffeur,  whose  right  foot  was 
raised  to  kick.  Down  he  went  like  a  log  and  there  she 
stood  like  a  young  Diana,  the  blubbering  Wop  on  his 
back  on  one  side,  the  blaspheming  Irishman  full- 
sprawl  on  the  other. 

Startled  out  of  his  oily  concentration  by  all  these 
female  screams  Tom  had  darted  out  of  the  garage 
in  time  to  see  this  gallant  work,  and  in  a  flick  of  an 
eyebrow  had  joined  the  group,  with  smudges  all 
over  his  grinning  face.  "  Pretty  good  stuff,"  he 
said. 

"  All  right,  Tom,"  said  Martha.  "  Leave  this  to 
me.  I  'm  used  to  it.  ...  Now  then,  get  up,  you 
two.  A  nice  sight  you  make,  I  must  say.  I  don't 
want  any  explanations.  I  can  guess  what  hap- 


124  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

pened.  You  called  Tony  a  dirty  little  Wop  and  he 
said  that  most  Wops  had  to  be  dirty  through  fighting 
the  Germans  while  the  Irish  looked  on.  And  you 
had  to  prove  what  a  fine  fighting  man  you  are  by 
going  after  somebody  half  your  size.  If  this  hap- 
pens again,  Humphrey,  you  go,  quick.  Is  that 
understood?  And  as  for  you,  Tony,  cut  more 
grass  and  do  less  talking  and  you  won't  have  so 
many  dramas  to  act  to  your  wife.  That 's  all  I 
have  to  say,  —  this  time." 

She  treated  them  like  children,  and  they  took  it, 
though  differently.  The  Wop  rubbed  his  hairy  arm 
over  his  face  and  brought  forth  a  sheepish  smile. 
He  thanked  his  patron  saint  that  Missa  Martha  had 
come  to  his  rescue.  By  the  grace  of  God  he  could 
go  on  cutting  the  grass,  which  meant  a  roof  over 
his  wife  and  food  for  his  ever-increasing  brood. 
He  had  not  dared  to  say  as  much  to  thata  dog  Irish- 
man as  the  younga  lady.  He  could  laugh.  So  he 
slanted  his  shoulder  and  murmured  things  and  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  brown  eyes  went  off,  plucking  high 
weeds  on  his  way  back.  O'Brien  got  up  slowly, 
with  his  lower  jaw  stuck  out,  humiliated  to  the  very 
quick  to  have  been  found  at  full  length  by  the  son 
of  the  house  to  whom  he  had  already  been  telling 
fairy  tales  about  his  great  courage.  "If  I  'd  a'  bin 
over  there  I  'd  'a  shown  'em  somethin',  sure."  The 
usual  stuff.  He  wagged  his  head  from  side  to  side 
and  spat,  after  the  most  appalling  preliminaries,  to 
show  that  he  was  as  good  as  annybuddy ;  and  started 
to  whistle  while  he  dusted  the  dry  earth  from  his 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  125 

breeches.  It  was  all  very  clever,  according  to  his 
bog-headed  way  of  thinking,  and  by  the  time  that 
he  had  lurched  halfway  up  the  hill  towards  the 
house  he  was  accepting  as  a  fact  the  unholy  lie 
that  he  meant  to  spread  about  after  he  had  done,  — 
Irish  to  the  backbone. 

Tom  and  Martha  made  their  way  back  arm  in 
arm. 

"  A  big  order,  —  running  a  house  these  days, 
young  'un." 

She  laughed.  "  I  should  think  so.  Fine  train- 
ing as  a  supervisor  of  a  lunatic  asylum.  Honestly, 
if  things  get  much  worse  we  shall  have  to  be  our 
own  servants  and  rely  on  community  kitchens. 
Wages  go  up  as  loyalty  and  intelligence  go  down, 
and  why  does  a  man  like  O'Brien  have  to  behave 
himself  when  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  walk  into  the  next 
village  and  get  another  job  with  higher  wages? 
And  do  you  think  he  ever  condescends  to  work  on 
the  engine  if  anything 's  wrong  with  it?  Not  he. 
Away  goes  the  car  to  the  repair  shop  and  up  comes 
a  nice  big  bill.  He  only  washes  the  car  and  cleans 
the  windows  on  Saturdays  so  that  it  looks  smart 
for  church  for  himself  and  the  maids."  She  pulled 
up  short  in  what  was  about  to  develop  into  a  long 
and  detailed  account  of  the  whole  servant  problem 
and  laughed  again.  "  I  talk  like  an  old  married 
woman,  don't  I  ?  And  now  I  'd  better  go  up  and 
put  mother  out  of  suspense.  She  's  probably  ex- 
pecting a  gruesome  story  of  murder  after  all  that 
screaming." 


126  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

And  away  she  ran  with  a  backward  wave,  —  the 
note  from  Mrs.  Mortimer  burning  a  hole  in  her 
pocket. 

VI 

MRS.  WAINWRIGHT'S  mood  when  Martha  made 
her  report  was  that  of  every  other  woman  of  her 
type  under  similar  circumstances.  A  born  house- 
wife who  had  been  in  complete  control  until  her 
bronchial  tubes  had  gone  back  upon  her,  she  bit- 
terly resented  the  fracas  that  had  occurred  in  the 
garden.  Those  screams  damaged  the  dignity  of  her 
home  and,  if  there  had  been  any  near  neighbors, 
would  prove  to  them  a  certain  inefficiency  for  which 
she  was  not  responsible.  Luckily  and  naturally, 
however,  there  was  mixed  with  this  feeling  one  of 
extreme  self-satisfaction  that  no  such  outbreak 
could  ever  have  occurred  had  she  been  at  the  wheel. 
She  was  able,  therefore,  to  listen  to  Martha's  swift 
account  with  sufficient  tolerance  to  enable  her  to 
keep  a  curb  upon  her  tongue.  Martha  was  a  good 
girl.  She  was  doing  her  best.  She  was  inexperi- 
enced, of  course.  The  gift  of  controlling  such  ut- 
terly different  people  as  the  Irish  and  the  Italians 
was  not  given  to  everyone.  She  was  carrying  on 
with  an  amount  of  pluck  and  unselfishness  that  was 
remarkable  in  one  so  young  and  so  full  of  life.  To 
criticize  her  efforts  unfavorably  would  be  unkind 
and  ungrateful.  Mrs.  Thompson's  Enid,  it  must  be 
remembered,  played  bridge  all  day  and  danced  all 
night.  And  Mrs.  Warner's  Vera  commuted  to 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  127 

New  York  every  morning  to  lunch  at  the  Ritz  and 
fox-trot  at  the  Plaza.  And  both  would  have  fainted 
at  the  mere  idea  of  giving  an  order  to  the  grocer. 
These  facts  must  be  borne  in  mind.  Martha  was 
indeed  an  exceptional  girl,  a  chip  of  the  old 
block.  ...  So  Mrs.  Wainwright  made  allowances. 
She  simply  clicked  her  tongue  and  shook  her  head 
and  murmured  something  about  "  these  dreadful 
people."  And  the  incident  passed,  with  no  small 
credit  to  the  lady  who  fretted  terribly  at  being 
temporarily  deposed. 

All  the  same  the  little  interview  between  the 
mother  and  the  daughter  was  not  allowed  to  end 
as  well  as  it  began.  The  trouble  was  the  old  one  of 
Mrs.  Mortimer  and  her  friendship.  It  cropped  up 
again  as  it  had  often  cropped  up  before  during  the 
last  three  years. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wainwright,  putting  aside 
a  tin  thing  with  a  tube  in  it  out  of  which  she  had 
been  absorbing  benzoin,  —  its  pungent  smell  rilled 
the  very  precise  room,  —  "I  think  you  had  better 
mark  the  new  towels  this  afternoon.  Tom  will 
need  them,  and  it 's  a  nice  day  for  marking  towels." 

Martha  repressed  her  laugh  and  also  her  urgent 
desire  to  ask  what  the  weather  had  to  do  with  that 
all-important  job.  "  All  right,  Mother,"  she  said. 

"  Bring  them  in  here  about  three  o'clock  and  I  '11 
show  you  how  I  like  them  done." 

"  Three  o'clock,  —  exactly  three  o'clock,"  — 
with  the  hope  of  meeting  him. 

"  Won't  six  o'clock  do  as  well,  Mother  ?  " 


128  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

"  No,  dear.  I  shall  be  fresh  from  a  nap  then  and 
I  can  give  my  mind  to  it.  Father  will  be  here  at 
six  o'clock  to  tell  me  all  about  the  game  with  Tom. 
It  must  be  three  o'clock." 

"  The  glass  is  set  fair,  Mother.  It  '11  be  just  as 
good  for  towels  at  three  o'clock  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Wainwright  looked  up  sharply.  She  was 
unaffected  by  the  slight  touch  of  humor.  Her  an- 
cestors had  been  of  the  Dr.  Johnson  variety  of  Eng- 
lish and  she  had  inherited  a  certain  contempt  for 
what  she  called  mere  humorous  persons,  as  he  did. 
She  was  quick  to  suspect  that  the  white-haired  lady 
who  had  no  right  to  be  so  beautiful  or  so  urbane 
after  the  sort  of  life  that  she  had  led,  was  at  the 
back  of  this  little  argument.  That  absurd  old  man, 
too,  with  his  wild  record.  They  were  both  quite 
unfit  for  the  society  of  a  nice  girl.  Tom  had  men- 
tioned Major  Mortimer.  Everyone  had  heard  the 
gossip  about  him  and  his  affairs  with  women.  .  .  . 
At  the  same  time  something  had  been  coming  over 
Martha,  —  a  sudden  closing-up,  a  quick  flash  of  un- 
expected independence,  —  which  warned  her  that 
she  was  on  ground  marked  "  No  Trespassers,"  —  a 
startling  and  disconcerting  notice  for  a  mother  to 
come  up  against. 

"I  would  much  prefer  to-day,  dear,"  she  said, 
going  carefully.  "And  surely  you  haven't  made 
any  engagements  to  take  you  away  from  home  on 
the  first  day  of  Tom's  return." 

"  Hardly  away  from  home,  Mother.  Only  across 
the  brook." 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  129 

Then  it  was  Mrs.  Mortimer  once  more,  in  spite 
of  all  that  had  been  said.     What  could  Martha,  who 
was  so  sensible  and  forthright,  see  in  this  always 
half  smiling  woman  about  whom  seemed  to  cling 
the  echo  of  applause  as  it  did  about  a  retired  actress 
of  many   dead  triumphs?     What  queer   influence 
was  being  exerted  on  her  girl  to  draw  her  so  fre- 
quently into  that  atmosphere  of  banished  royalty? 
To  the  perfectly  direct  and  simple  Mrs.  Wainwright 
to  whom  life  was  as  cut  and  dried  a  thing  as  a 
draught  board,  these  Mortimers,  who  had  moved 
with  such  an  adventurous  disregard  for  the  conven- 
tional rules  from  square  to  square,  seemed  to  be 
rather  dangerous  people,  flippant,  grotesque,  freak- 
ish and  neurotic,  —  almost  foreign.     It  was  a  con- 
stant source  of  amazement  and  anxiety  to  her  that 
Martha  with  her  traditions  and  example  could  bring 
herself  to  like  them.     It  seemed  to  prove  the  exist- 
ence of  a  kink  somewhere.     There  was  in  it,  in- 
deed, something  as  unexplainable  to  her  as  there 
would  have  been  to  a  New  England  Baptist  Minis- 
ter whose  impeccable  wife  showed  an  irresistible 
desire  to  fox-trot  with  a  professional  dancer  from  a 
Broadway  cabaret,  —  a  lack  of  fastidiousness,  a  dis- 
regard of  hygiene  almost,  that  was  very  strange. 
"  We  are  simple  people,"  she  said  to  herself,  over 
and  over  again,  "  who  work  hard  and  are  honest 
and  have  no  shams.     We  fear  God  and  keep  our 
powder  dry.     Martha  is  essentially  one  of  us,  think- 
ing the  same  thoughts,  striving  to  the  same  ends, 
eating  the  same  food,  wearing  the  same  clothes, 


130  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

made  on  the  same  model.  There  must  be  some  un- 
natural and  unhealthy  magnet  that  is  drawing  her 
into  constant  association  with  that  woman  who  is  as 
much  out  of  place  in  the  everyday  life  of  America 
as  a  nude  bronze  in  a  collection  of  Massachusetts 
china."  .  .  .  Poor  little  good  lady!  If  she  had 
been  able  to  imagine  that  the  key  to  her  puzzle  was 
Love  the  revolutionist,  she  would  have  needed  the 
immediate  services  of  Church  as  well  as  Science ! 

But,  —  the  time  had  gone  when  she  could  take 
a  stand  and  say,  "  Martha,  I  will  not  have  this  and 
I  will  not  have  that,"  and  that  new  time  had  arrived, 
so  bewildering  to  a  mother,  which  had  brought  with 
it  the  inevitable  notice  board  of  "  Private  Road,  — 
no  trespassers." 

She  sat  confused  and  nonplussed.  The  child 
was  fearless  and  frank.  She  offered  no  deceit. 
She  intended  to  go  across  the  brook,  —  and  the 
towels  would  not  be  marked  at  three  o'clock,  nice 
as  the  day  was  for  that  important  piece  of  domestic- 
ity. 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  she  said.  "  Have  your  own 
way.  All  I  trust  is  that  you  will  not  live  to  regret 
it." 

Martha  knew  very  well  that  this  enigmatical  re- 
mark, hard  to  bear,  referred  to  her  friendship  with 
the  white-haired  lady  and  not  to  her  postponement 
of  towel  marking.  If  her  mother  had  been  on  her 
feet,  well  and  strong,  she  would  have  let  herself  go 
and  taken  up  the  cudgels  on  behalf  of  the  woman 
who  was  so  wonderful  as  the  mother  of  Bill  and 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  131 

whom  she  admired  and  esteemed  as  a  sweet  and 
rather  pathetic  figure,  united  to  her  by  their  mutual 
love  for  the  returned  soldier.  But  invalidism 
raised  a  protective  trench  round  her  mother  and  she 
held  her  peace.  She  simply  told  herself  that  her 
mother  was  prejudiced  and,  by  the  taking  up  of  a 
book,  took  her  dismissal  without  anger  although 
with  the  natural  impatience  of  youth.  She  liked 
the  Mortimers  and  found  them  charming  and  un- 
expected. She  was  fascinated  by  their  warm  old 
house  which  reeked  with  history.  She  was  ap- 
pealed to  by  their  wanting  to  know  her  and  by 
their  graciousness  and  manners  and,  above  all,  she 
went  to  them  for  the  sense  of  comfort  and  con- 
solation that  she  needed  as  one  who  loved  without 
return. 

"  All  mothers  are  like  this,  I  suppose,"  she 
thought,  and  went  on  to  the  next  job,  with  the  song 
of  fairies  in  her  heart. 

VII 

"  COME  on,  Tom." 

"  Coming,  Dad." 

The  boy  swarmed  upstairs  for  a  pipe  and  to  stick 
his  head  into  his  mother's  room  for  a  moment.  It 
was  a  beastly  shame  that  she  was  caged  in  at  such 
a  time. 

So  Jonathan  Wainwright  went  out  to  wait  in  the 
garden.  His  new  suit  of  golf  clothes  made  him 
feel  a  trifle  self-conscious.  He  had  never  taken  the 
trouble  to  dress  himself  up.  It  was  rather  nice 


132  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

though.     And  after  all  Brown,  Jones,  and  Robinson 
got  away  with  it.  ... 

The  car  was  at  the  door  with  Humphrey  in 
charge  full  of  cutlets  and  potatoes,  his  face  cleaner 
than  usual  and  the  same  old  grin  at  the  corners  of 
his  mouth.  He  was  a  different  man  when  the  men 
of  the  house  were  about.  But  the  belt  of  bushes  to 
the  left  of  the  house  made  a  good  screen,  and  behind 
this  the  man  of  fifty-two,  most  of  whose  good 
muscle  had  been  devoted  to  business,  slipped  out  of 
view  and  made  thirty-six  attempts  to  touch  his  toes, 
—  tummy  a  bit  in  the  way.  Curse  fifty-two. 

The  strange  trickle  of  excitement  that  he  had 
taken  with  him  to  town  was  strong  enough  now  to 
send  sparks  from  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  ...  A  dozen 
times  during  his  morning's  work,  pushing  everyone 
hard  and  putting  an  amount  of  pace  into  his  staff 
that  left  them  a  little  breathless,  the  trickle  had  made 
him  leap  to  his  feet,  forget  what  he  was  dictating, 
grip  an  imaginary  driver,  take  a  firm  and  proper 
stance  in  the  middle  of  his  room  and  beat  a  meta- 
phorical ball  clean  through  the  office  window  to 
bounce  from  one  Gargantuan  building  to  another 
and  fall  away  down  into  the  narrow  slit  that  called 
itself  a  street.  ...  He  had  been  early  for  the  home- 
ward train,  but  this  thing  in  his  veins,  playing  up 
and  down  his  spine,  had  sent  him  down  the  steps  to 
the  Lower  Level  of  the  swarming  Grand  Central 
like  a  boy  let  out  of  school.  He  was  stealing  an 
afternoon  for  the  first  time  in  memory.  It  was 
epoch-making.  .  .  .  Time  after  time  on  the  journey 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  133 

through  the  parterres  of  the  City  the  words  of  his 
paper  had  slid  off  the  sheet  in  a  heap  and  he  had 
been  surcharged  with  a  passionate  urge  to  sway 
along  to  the  engine  room  and  give  the  driver  a 
thumping  bribe  to  send  the  train  into  the  air.  It 
was  a  gorgeous  day  with  a  warm  sun  and  a  sky  as 
clear  as  crystal.  Was  he  going  to  be  able  to  keep 
his  end  up  against  that  boy  of  his  who  was  so  fit  and 
confident  and  well  oiled  and  prove  that  although  he 
was  now  a  man  of  fifty-two,  office-stiff  and  unexer- 
cised,  he  had  enough  kick  left  to  drive  as  far  and 
take  the  hills  without  panting?  It  was  absurd.  A 
man  could  n't  have  worked  like  a  traction  engine  for 
thirty-five  years  and  do  those  things.  He  must 
take  two  strokes  and  follow  round,  halving  a  few 
holes  at  the  best.  .  .  .  Amazing  to  think  that  this 
was  the  lad  who,  apparently  a  few  years  ago,  had 
looked  up  to  him  with  round  admiring  eyes  as  one 
unbelievably  out  of  reach,  —  the  lad  he  had  carried 
on  his  back,  lugged  along  on  a  sled  and  left  after 
many  holidays  on  the  steps  of  the  prep  school,  a 
sturdy  open-faced  boy  putting  up  a  grim  fight  to 
keep  a  stiff  upper  lip.  How  many  yesterdays  had 
slipped  away  since  he  had  heard  the  incoherent  pat- 
ter that  used  to  be  called  prayers  and  issued  the  ul- 
timatum in  his  den  to  the  little  scamp  with  the  dirty 
face  and  a  hole  in  the  seat  of  his  pants  ?  .  .  .  Hey, 
Hey,  Hey,  —  twenty-five  and  fifty-two,  —  and 
here  was  this  Tom  of  his,  over  whom  he  and  his 
wife  had  had  many  fits  because  of  such  crises  as 
whooping  cough  and  measles  and  broken  ribs,  fresh 


134  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

from  rubbing  shoulders  with  death  and  shell  shock 
and  trench  fever,  to  all  of  which  they  had  sent  him 
forth  with  pride.  .  .  .  Amazing,  —  and  very  good. 

It  was  behind  the  bushes  that  Martha  found  old 
man  Wainwright  pretending  to  be  deep  in  the  study 
of  rose  bugs.  She  straightened  his  slightly  cock- 
eyed tie  and  gave  him  a  kiss.  "  Show  him  the  way 
round,  Dad,"  she  said. 

"  Impossible,  honey,  —  unless  he  's  off  his  game." 

"  Well,  he  will  be.  He  has  n't  seen  a  club  for 
ages." 

"  There  's  something  in  that !  .  .  .  But  I  've  only 
had  Sundays  all  my  life.  I  'm  a  boob  at  the  game. 
Walk  round  with  us,  Pansy  face?  " 

"  I  'd  have  loved  to,  Dad,  but  I  have  to  go  and  see 
Mrs.  Mortimer." 

"  Have  to  ?     Is  it  an  order  ?  " 

Mother  had  been  talking.  "  No,  but  I  like  her, 
and  .  .  .  ."  She  did  n't  dare  to  trust  herself. 

The  parental  arm  went  round  the  young  shoul- 
ders. "  Well,  go  easy,  honey.  It  would  be  imper- 
tinent to  interfere,  —  you,  as  trustable  and  full  of 
sense  as  your  mother,  and  that 's  going  some. 
The  only  thing  is,  is  n't  this  good  lady  a  bit  out  of 
our  scope?  She  won't  unsettle  my  little  girl,  will 
she,  with  her  stories  of  society  triumphs,  and  all 
that  ?  That 's  the  only  thing  that  worries  me  a 
little.  You  can't  go  on  the  bat  and  do  what  you  're 
doing  at  the  same  time,  you  know.  I  wish  you 
could,  sometimes,  when  I  see  some  of  those  elderly 
kids  get  on  the  train,  dressed  up  to  the  eyes,  —  and 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  135 

then  I  look  at  them  again  and  draw  comparisons  and 
I  don't  know  what  I  wish." 

Martha  put  her  hands  on  his  chest  and  looked  him 
full  in  the  eyes.  "  Have  you  ever  heard  me 
grumble  ?  " 

"  No,  honey." 

"  Do  you  ever  think  you  will  ?  " 

"  No,  honey." 

"  Then  what 's  the  idea,  Dad  ?  When  I  'm  sick 
of  trying  to  be  as  much  like  you  and  Mother  as  I 
can  that  '11  be  the  time  for  me  to  cut  loose  and  paint 
my  face.  And  before  I  do  I  '11  give  you  a  month's 
notice  so  that  you  can  look  out  for  somebody  else 
to  do  my  job.  Is  that  fair?"  She  held  out  her 
hand. 

And  he  caught  it  and  yanked  her  into  his  arms 
and  kissed  her.  He  was  a  lucky  man  in  his  chil- 
dren. He  had  n't  worked  to  the  almost  total  ex- 
tinction of  muscle  and  all  that  keeps  it  up  for  noth- 
ing. And  he  said  so,  stumblingly  and  rather 
shyly,  —  the  slight,  frank,  flowerlike  thing  in  his 
arms,  —  warmly,  the  fourth  wall  of  both  being  wide 
open  for  once.  "  And  don't  think,"  he  wound  up, 
"  that  because  Tom 's  in  the  limelight  he 's  the 
only  hero  in  the  house.  He  is  n't,  my  dear,  and 
don't  I  know  it!  There  ought  to  be  a  string  of 
ribbons  on  your  chest  and  there  are  when  I  look 
at  you." 

And  a  wonderful  look  gleamed  in  the  girl's  eyes 
and  a  little  tremble  ran  over  her  lips.  But  she 
laughed  as  usual  as  she  said,  to  bring  things  back  to 


136  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

normal,  "  We  're  a  nice  little  family,  we  are,  are  n't 
we,  Dad?" 

And  out  came  Tom. 

VIII 

MARTHA  waved  after  the  car. 

The  young  soldier  and  the  man  with  white  hair 
and  many  lines  looked  like  brothers  that  afternoon. 
Good  fighters,  both. 

She  went  upstairs.  Tom's  whisper  on  his  way  to 
the  car  made  her  as  proud  of  him  as  of  anything 
that  he  had  done,  and  gave  her  an  almost  blinding 
insight  into  his  newly  developed  imaginative  side. 
"  I  'm  going  to  be  off  my  game.  Dad  's  got  to  win 
this  time.  He  needs  the  tonic." 

This,  the  little  emotional  talk  with  her  father  and 
her  own  pulsing  excitement  at  the  prospect  of  see- 
ing and  speaking  to  Bill  Mortimer  made  the  inti- 
macy and  quietude  of  her  own  room  desirable  and 
necessary.  It  was  good,  as  it  had  always  been 
good,  to  shut  life  out  sometimes  and  stand  hedged-in 
privately  in  the  small  oasis  where  she  could  be  and 
look  and  think  her  very  own  self  among  her  very 
own  things.  Here  she  could  let  herself  down,  loosen 
the  strings  that  had  always  to  be  at  concert  pitch  and 
be  precisely  as  her  mood  made  her  feel.  At  that  mo- 
ment her  mood  was  composed  of  several  emotions, 
—  joy  at  the  happiness  of  having  Tom  back,  su- 
preme pride  in  her  father's  recognition  of  her  efforts 
and  a  strange  sense  of  fear  at  what  the  meeting  on 
the  hill  might  lead  to.  It  was  the  last  of  these  that 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  137 

hurried  her  to  her  glass  and  caused  her  to  examine 
herself  with  a  new  sort  of  criticism.  If  she  were  at 
last  to  be  put  to  the  test  to  which  all  her  dreams  had 
led,  and  she  wanted  this  unendurably,  could  she  meet 
it  with  any  hope?  .  .  . 

Deep  down  under  all  her  capability  and  steadi- 
ness there  was  the  vague  urgency  for  passion  and 
romance,  the  love-hunger  of  a  girl  trembling 
on  the  edge  of  womanhood,  something  that  sent  the 
blood  flying  to  her  cheeks  but  left  her  unashamed. 
She  was  loved  by  father  and  mother  and  Tom.  She 
had  the  supreme  assurance  of  being  trusted  and  re- 
lied upon.  She  could  imagine  no  home  that  of- 
fered her  greater  security,  a  dearer  anchorage. 
But  her  secret  estimate  of  life  was  incomplete  with- 
out just  that  one  human  being  who  needed  the  touch 
of  her,  to  whom  she  was  the  one  dominating  fact, 
who  could  be  drawn  by  her  magnet  from  the  center 
of  a  crowd,  and  to  whom  she  could  answer  with  the 
whole  strength  and  steadfastness  of  a  soul  utterly 
delivered  up.  And  this  meant  that  while  she  stood 
in  the  heart  of  a  home  she  was  homeless  because 
only  with  Bill  could  she  win  the  completion  that 
made  home  of  wherever  he  was.  Untrifled  with 
and  unfrittered,  the  vague  urgency  was  a  stronger 
one  for  being  concentrated.  Bill  or  no  one  was  her 
watchword,  and  it  rang  through  her  body,  like  the 
reverberation  of  a  bell.  .  .  . 

She  saw  a  slight  young  figure,  not  tall  and  not 
short;  held  well,  with  straight  back  and  shoulders 
set  square;  an  oval  face  with  large  wide-apart  eyes 


138  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

like  those  of  a  deer  and  with  the  same  straight  soft 
look;  a  nose  that  showed  character  and  sensitive- 
ness; a  large  full-lipped  mouth  with  a  tendency  to 
laughter;  fair  hair  in  which  there  were  touches  of 
bronze.  Nothing  arresting  and  beautiful  as  she 
would  have  liked;  a  good  deal,  in  fact,  like  that  of 
hundreds  of  other  girls  of  her  class  and  breeding,  — 
health  and  cheeriness  and  an  unpreventable  normal- 
ity all  about  her,  unmistakably  of  the  country. 
Nothing  either  romantic  or  picturesque,  but  tidy 
and  neat  and  even  ordinary.  .  .  .  But  what  she 
failed  to  see  was  the  spring-look  of  girlhood,  the 
white  fire  of  youth,  the  glory  that  makes  all  young 
things  the  masters  of  life,  the  freshness  that  be- 
longs to  the  morning.  .  .  . 

So  she  turned  away  dissatisfied  and  humble. 
She  would  never  do.  "  A  smudge  of  a  thing,"  she 
told  herself,  "  not  a  bit  like  the  sort  of  girl  that  he 
could  love."  But  with  quick  deft  fingers  she  started 
to  re-do  her  hair  and  presently,  everything  going 
wrong,  to  change  her  frock,  instinctively  entering 
into  the  competition  of  Eve,  hope  seeing  a  star  and 
listening  love  hearing  the  rustling  of  a  wing.  Not 
daring  to  give  herself  a  final  look  of  scrutiny  for 
fear  that  she  might  turn  coward  and  stay  away,  she 
stood  for  a  moment  with  the  photograph  pressed  to 
her  lips  passionately,  all-desiring,  —  and  fled. 

Past  mother's  room  on  tiptoe,  —  her  nap  was  so 
important;  down  the  stairs  with  a  complete  familiar- 
ity with  those  that  creaked,  across  the  hall  that  was 
a&  supremely  conservative  as  the  rest  of  the  house, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  139 

and  out  into  the  sun,  —  warm  and  electrical.  The 
scent  of  spring  met  her  and  the  sweet  smell  of  new- 
cut  grass.  The  petals  of  apple  blossoms  volplaned 
in  the  light  breeze.  Birds  piped  and  bees  went 
hunting  with  the  indefatigable  optimism  that  be- 
longs to  them,  and  to  collectors  of  old  furniture. 
With  a  trained  eye  on  the  borders  which  those  two 
slipshod  Wops  were  never  loath  to  miss,  down  she 
went  to  the  road,  and  over  this  expensive  item  to  the 
wood  whose  red  carpet  was  alive  with  sprouting 
green.  And  then  out  into  the  sparkling  open  to  the 
bridge  across  the  brook  which  divided  her  father's 
property  from  the  old  Mortimer  place,  —  lingering 
a  little  and  depressed. 

At  three  o'clock,  exactly  three  o'clock,  she  climbed 
the  hill  on  which  the  Seven  Sisters  stood  grouped 
affectionately  and  conscious  of  being  seen  the  year 
round,  bare  or  leaf-laden,  from  far  and  near. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  was  unpunctual.  She  had  ex- 
pected to  find  the  white-haired  lady  standing,  a 
gracious  figure,  cut  clear  against  the  sky.  But  it 
would  be  helpful  to  be  alone  for  a  little,  to  draw  in 
the  air.  She  went  slowly  towards  the  bench  be- 
neath the  trees,  the  old  meeting  place.  A  crowd  of 
memories  rose  to  meet  her.  How  often  they  had 
sat  there,  hand  in  hand,  those  two,  the  woman  whose 
life  was  all  behind  her  and  the  girl  who  had  not 
yet  broken  through  the  hoop,  and  in  long  silences 
listened  figuratively  to  the  roar  of  guns  which  put 
the  lives  of  their  two  men  in  constant  jeopardy. 
How  often  they  had  whispered  of  what  they  would 


140  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

do  and  give  up  if  only  God  saw  fit  to  let  these  two 
men  off  and  send  them  back  safe  and  well.  How 
often  their  united  prayers  had  gone  up  from  that 
little  hill  like  a  thin  trickle  of  smoke  to  the  gate  of 
Heaven.  .  .  . 

The  virile  undergrowth  had  covered  the  path  that 
her  feet  had  made  and  she  went  forward  with  hardly 
a  sound.  But  a  twig  snapped,  and  someone,  lying 
full  stretch  with  his  hands  under  his  head,  sat  up 
quickly  and  watched  her  come,  —  Miss  Respectable. 

It  was  Bill. 

And  down  below,  the  white-haired  lady,  having 
played  her  first  card  in  the  last  and  biggest  of  her 
schemes,  returned  to  her  garden,  smiling. 

IX 

"  THE  flower  of  a  girl,  with  the  dew  on  her  and 
a  morning  hymn  in  her  eyes,  —  all  to  myself,  to 
treat  right  and  play  the  good  old  game  by,  and  a 
young  Bill  and  a  tiny  Lylyth,  the  country  year  in  and 
year  out,  and  home."  .  .  .  Those  were  the  words 
that  he  had  used  to  Teddy  Jedburgh  in  his  rooms 
the  night  of  his  return  when  he  had  confessed  to 
the  prodigal  son's  longing  to  indulge  in  an  orgy  of 
sentimental  reconstruction.  .  .  .  And  here  stood 
the  Wainwright  Kid,  the  memory  of  whose  wel- 
coming smile  still  rang  like  a  little  bell  in  his 
soul. 

Bill  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  put  up  his  hand 
to  take  off  the  hat  that  was  lying  in  the  grass. 

"  You  came  to  meet  Mother,  but  she  had  to  go 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  141 

back  to  the  house  for  something.  How  do  you  do  ? 
I  'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you.  Will  you  wait  until 
she  comes  up  again?  Do  sit  down  somewhere. 
On  this  bit  of  rock.  It's  dry.  .  .  ."  What  on 
earth  was  he  saying?  If  this  had  been  Susie  Hatch 
with  her  free  and  easy  way,  or  Jeanne  Dacoral  with 
her  gamin  stuff  and  her  comic  nose  that  was  as  ar- 
tificially white  as  a  marshmallow,  or  any  of  the 
other  little  things  of  the  stage  and  semi-society  who 
had  made  his  rooms  their  happy  hunting  ground, 
there  would  not  have  been  any  of  this  ludicrous  con- 
straint about  him.  He  knew  their  language  and 
their  way  of  looking  at  things,  what  alone  was  cal- 
culated to  amuse  them,  City  pigeons,  supreme  ego- 
tists all.  But  this  child-woman,  with  eyes  as  clean 
and  sparkling  as  the  waters  of  a  trout  stream,  who 
stood  as  erect  as  a  daffodil,  disconcertingly  digni- 
fied .  .  .  this  young  country  thing  who  had 
emerged  from  girlhood  but  was  still  a  girl,  who  had 
no  tricks,  who  did  n't  burst,  open-mouthed,  into 
meaningless  laughter  or  a  greeting  of  the  latest 
slang,  but  who  remained,  very  quiet  and  friendly, 
supremely  simple,  meeting  his  eyes  fully,  smil- 
ing. .  .  . 

He  had  told  his  people  that  when  he  met  Miss 
Respectable,  if  .ever  he  did,  he  must  translate  him- 
self and  even  think  in  different  words,  —  and  here 
she  stood  like  another  and  a  baby  sister  of  those 
seven  trees.  Good  God,  it  was  going  to  be  diffi- 
cult. ...  It  is  n't  to  be  supposed  that  never  on  his 
way  through  the  good  old  days  had  he  had  any 


142  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

dealings  with  young  women  of  his  own  class,  — 
that  he  had  clung  entirely  to  the  stables  and  the 
stage.  It  came  easier  to  him  to  herd  with  the  nat- 
urally unnatural  little  people  of  these  sets  than  with 
the  unnaturally  natural  products  of  wealth  and  so- 
ciety. It  called  for  less  effort  and  he  had  been 
born  lazy.  He  preferred  not  to  work  if  he  could 
help  it  and  to  be  amused  rather  than  to  be  amusing. 
He  had  taken  dozens  of  the  Miss  Respectables  into 
dinner  all  over  the  world  and  to  dances  and  all  that 
in  the  usual  way,  but  they  were  the  sophisticated 
Miss  Respectables  who  would  have  taken  the  term 
as  the  worst  kind  of  opprobrium  and  turned  an  icy 
shoulder.  They  were  not  his  own  idea  of  Miss  Re- 
spectable, dug  out  from  under  a  pile  of  years  from 
one  of  early  idealisms,  epitomizing  just  such  a  girl 
as  Martha  Wainwright  with  her  tradition  and  en- 
vironment and  example  and  responsibility  and  dig- 
nity and  simplicity  —  monumental  and  unconscious 
simplicity,  —  who  was  as  much  of  the  country  as 
apple  blossoms  and  lilies  of  the  valley,  —  and  here 
she  stood,  come  true,  a  living  dream,  a  thing  of 
thought  created  into  flesh  and  blood,  a  new  Gala- 
tea. ...  It  was  a  big,  startling,  uneasy,  emotional 
moment  for  Bill,  who  was  going  to  be  a  good  boy 
now. 

And  when  she  said  "  Thank  you  "  and  sat  down 
on  the  chosen  stone,  patterned  with  the  patches  of 
sunlight  that  came  through  the  branches,  he  did  n't 
lie  at  her  feet  and  gaze  up  at  her  as  was  his  wont; 
he  sat  some  little  distance  away  and  nursed  his 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  143 

knees,  hunting  about  the  stretch  of  valley  for  some- 
thing to  say,  and  say  right. 

And  the  thing  that  Martha  hoped  above  all  others 
was  that  he  could  n't  hear  the  thumping  of  her 
heart. 

It  was  a  difficult  silence  to  break. 

Martha  made  a  tremendous  effort.  "  Tom  has 
been  telling  us  about  you,"  she  said. 

Her  brother !     It  had  n't  occurred  to  him  all  that 

X 

time.  The  boy  assumed  a  sudden  importance. - 
"  Good  chap,  Tom  Wainwright.  Steady  and  re- 
liable, born  soldier.  His  cheerfulness  made  him 
worth  an  immense  amount  to  the  regiment."  He 
did  n't  know  that  he  was  capable  of  talking  stuff 
like  that.  .  .  .  Sweet  thing.  She  had  eyes  like  a 
deer,  and  charming  little  wrists.  Go  easy,  now. 

"  He  said  those  things  about  you." 

"  Did  he?     That  was  nice  of  him." 

If  only  the  photograph  could  have  smiled  like 
that !  .  .  .  "  He 's  playing  golf  with  father  this 
afternoon."  It  was  very  handy  to  have  Tom. 

"  Hope  he  '11  play  with  me.  There  was  n't  a 
man  out  this  morning."  Would  there  ever  be  that 
light  in  her  eyes  when  she  talked  about  him  ?  What 
on  earth  had  his  mother  meant  last  night  when  she 
had  said  that  her  mind  was  a  blank  ?  Was  n't 
Martha  a  little  pal  of  hers?  He  had  described  this 
very  girl  in  every  detail.  It  was  perfectly  amazing. 

"  He  '11  be  at  home  every  day,"  she  said. 

"  Great.     I  '11  hike  him  out." 

After  which,  Tom  having  been  used  to  bridge  the 


144  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

first  surprise,  things  began  to  go  a  little  more 
smoothly.  Bringing  all  her  pluck  to  her  rescue,  and 
all  that  she  had  acquired  of  self-restraint  to  the  pre- 
vention of  any  signs  of  the  excitement  that  surged 
over  her,  Martha  managed  to  talk  about  the  weather 
and  the  country  and  the  Seven  Sisters  and  the  Mor- 
timer house.  It  was  well  and  splendidly  done,  al- 
most amazing  in  one  who  had  had  no  training  in  so- 
cial camouflage,  in  the  art  of  making  bricks  with 
straw.  Had  Mrs.  Mortimer  been  in  the  position 
of  eavesdropping  she  would  have  conferred  upon 
her  protegee  the  Order  of  Social  Merit.  All  that 
Bill  had  to  do  was  to  interject  the  necessary 
"  Reallys  "  and  "  Yes,  indeeds  "  to  make  things  al- 
most easy.  And  this  he  did,  finding  new  points 
to  admire  in  this  charming  child  who  babbled  so  un- 
affectedly and  who  more  and  more  fitted  into  the 
empty  niche  in  his  mind  which  the  reaction  of  war 
had  made  it  so  vital  to  fill. 

It  was  an  epoch-making  afternoon  for  them  both, 
—  the  girl  of  first  love,  and  the  man  who  believed 
that  he  had  frittered  love  away  but  wanted  to  re- 
spect and  possess.  And  finally,  the  shadows  length- 
ening, it  was  she  who  got  up  to  go  home,  duties  call- 
ing. And  she,  the  steadier  of  the  two,  although 
the  beating  of  her  heart  seemed  to  echo  among  the 
trees,  who  held  out  her  hand  to  say  good-by, 
triumphant  and  despairing  in  never  once  having 
said  a  single  thing  to  help  her  cause,  or  give  an  ink- 
ling to  her  emotions.  But  there  was  something  to 
build  on  in  the  grip  that  he  gave  her  hand  and  in 


THE  BLUE   ROOM  145 

his  stumble  of  words.  "  You  were  the  last  to  wave 
me  away  and  the  first  to  wave  me  back.  When  can 
I  see  you  again  ?  " 

And  as  she  went  over  the  bridge  that  divided  the 
two  properties,  the  fairies  were  all  about  her,  sing- 
ing and  dancing,  hope  had  seen  the  first  faint  glim- 
mer of  a  star  and  listening  love  had  caught  the  rus- 
tling of  a  wing. 

The  Commodore  and  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  risen 
to  dress  for  dinner,  late  and  a  little  flustered  and 
filled  with  speculation,  when  Bill  burst  in. 

"  I  've  met  her,"  he  said,  "  I  've  met  her." 

"Who,  my  dear?"  As  if  they  didn't  know, 
those  two  old  schemers. 

"  Miss  Respectable.  ...  It  's  ...  absolutely 
.  marvelous." 


PART   IV 

I 

IT  was  June. 

In  Mrs.  Mortimer's  old  garden,  all  the  roses  that 
she  had  collected  and  imported  and  nursed  so  ten- 
derly through  the  younger  months  were  in  their 
first  and  freshest  blooms.  It  was  a  sight  to  awaken 
optimism  in  a  scientist. 

Free  of  all  the  hard  and  fast  conservatism  that 
clings  to  most  garden-makers  the  white-haired  lady 
had  planted  her  roses  quite  irrespective  of  their  so- 
cial status.  An  old  Dundee  Rambler  whose  for- 
bears had  been  happy  enough  to  cluster  yearly  over 
a  disused  gate  in  an  English  lane  had  rushed  up  and 
broken  out  among  the  branches  of  a  tall  stiff  Holly 
tree  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  a  bed  within 
speaking  distance  of  a  group  of  Mesdames  Lam- 
bard.  A  Maiden's  Blush  from  Sussex,  as  crowded 
with  small  blossoms  as  the  steps  of  a  village  Sunday 
school  with  little  girls  in  their  best  white  frocks,, 
drew  in  the  aristocratic  scent  of  the  Viscountess 
Folkestone.  A  fountain  of  cabbage  roses,  sweetest 
of  all  sweet  things,  looked  down  without  a  tremor 
upon  the  lovely  Celeste,  and  the  Himalayan  Rosa 


148  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

Brunonii  with  her  long  blue  leaves  flirted  with  a 
Papa  Goutier  brought  from  a  garden  that  over- 
looked the  Seine  at  Caudebec.  Among  the  collec- 
tion of  Tea  Roses  all  carefully  tied  down  to  trellis 
rails  the  Bouquet  d'Or  gleamed  like  the  morning 
lights  in  a  Florida  sky  and  all  down  the  side  that 
was  nearest  to  the  house  great  bushes  of  Rosa  Poly- 
antha  made  a  screen  that  took  the  breath  away. 

Made-up  for  riding,  although  he  no  longer  dared 
to  risk  a  shaking  in  the  saddle,  Barclay  Mortimer 
walked  about  the  stable  square  flipping  his  boot, 
and  thinking  back  to  the  good  old  days  when  he  rode 
forth  every  morning  to  watch  his  string  of  thor- 
oughbreds file  out  for  exercise.  They  were  the 
times,  damme.  The  air  crisp,  the  early  sun  setting 
the  smooth  backs  of  the  rolling  Downs  alight,  the 
ring  of  many  hoofs  on  the  dry  turf,  a  lark  throb- 
bing his  way  to  the  sky,  and  the  dear  lady  getting 
color  into  her  cheeks  as  she  rode  at  his  side,  — 
one  of  the  several  dear  ladies.  Curse  Anno  Dom- 
ini. 

Bill  had  gone  out  on  one  of  the  Irish  hunters,  and 
the  Old  Rip,  dressed  horsy  even  if  his  horsy  days 
were  over,  waited  for  him,  while  Martha  and  Mrs. 
Mortimer  sat  among  the  roses.  ...  It  had  been  the 
devil's  own  job  to  get  his  boots  on.  Denham  was 
undergoing  a  rest  cure  before  he  tackled  the  busi- 
ness of  pulling  them  off.  Language  had  been  flung 
about,  and  nerves  torn.  But  the  result  had  been 
worth  it.  They  were  good  legs  for  boots,  and  even 
the  much-tried  valet  had  to  confess  that  the  old 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  149 

gentleman  looked  pretty  'ot  stuff  as  he  swaggered 
out  in  his  tight-fitting  coat  of  huge  checks,  his  white 
stock  with  its  little  diamond  fox,  and  his  brown 
bowler  cocked  over  his  ear.  It  was  a  dog's  life, 
with  the  Major  back,  what  with  making  up  for  golf 
that  never  was  played,  and  for  tennis,  just  to  look 
on  while  Bill  and  young  Wainwright  covered  the 
court,  and  for  tea  to  which  Miss  Martha  dropped  in 
nearly  every  afternoon.  ..."  Somethin'  doin'  in 
that  direction,"  if  Denham  could  feel  the  way  the 
wind  blew.  "  Only  'ad  to  cock  an  eye  at  the  Major 
to  see  that.  Sloppy,  that 's  what  'e  was."  And  he 
did  n't  wonder.  A  reg'lar  flower  of  a  girl.  Far 
too  young  for  that  chip  of  the  old  block,  she  was, 
though.  A  beastly  shame.  Still,  it  was  none  of 
his  business.  Nor  Albery's  neither.  And  after  all 
Bill  was  being  a  good  boy  now  all  right.  Put  a  pa- 
per weight  on  that  there  new  leaf,  from  the  look 
of  it.  A  bit  of  a  blow  for  them  bits  o'  fluff  in 
town,  he  'd  bet.  Well,  well,  there  were  changes  in 
the  air,  that  was  certain.  The  war  had  a  lot  to 
answer  for.  .  .  .  The  eyes  and  tongues  of  the  serv- 
ants' quarters  had  let  nothing  go  by. 

For  two  reasons  which  seemed  to  him  to  be  good 
Bill  cut  his  ride  short.  One  was  that  Teddy  Jed- 
burgh  was  expected  at  the  house  that  afternoon  for 
a  fortnight's  visit,  and  the  other  that  Martha  was 
due  to  tea,  having  missed  the  previous  day.  He 
chuckled  when  he  found  the  immaculate  old  man 
hanging  about  the  yard.  He  was  in  too  beatific  a 
mood  to  be  impatient  of  being  constantly  dogged  by 


150  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

his  father.  It  was  good  to  be  able  to  provide  the 
dear  old  boy  with  means,  however  childish,  of  break- 
ing the  monotony  of  his  daily  round,  and  he  re- 
joiced in  the  fact  that  there  was  enough  vitality  left 
in  that  once  active  body  even  to  affect  activities  of 
which  it  was  incapable. 

The  sweating  hunter  was  led  away,  with  flicking 
tail. 

"  How  do  you  like  him,  Bill?  " 

"One  of  the  best.  Goes  like  a  bird."  He 
caught  sight  of  Martha  in  the  heart  of  the  garden. 
It  seemed  right  that  she  should  be  there.  He  had 
missed  her  yesterday,  strangely.  "  No  sign  of 
Teddy  yet?" 

"  Not  yet.  He  's  not  due  for  half  an  hour.  The 
car  was  timed  to  leave  your  rooms  at  half  past  two. 
It 's  a  good  two  hours'  run.  Walk  round  the 
stables  with  me."  The  old  man  was  a  little  jealous 
of  his  wife  and  even  of  Martha,  much  as  he  wanted 
to  see  the  fulfillment  of  his  last  ambition. 

Having  imagination  Bill  knew  this  and  took  his 
father's  arm.  But  he  threw  a  quick  surreptitious 
glance  towards  the  garden.  He  had  said,  in  pulling 
down  his  fourth  wall,  "  that  there  could  be  no  first 
lover  stuff  about  him  in  his  reconstruction  plan,  that 
he  had  n't  got  to  fall  passionately  in  love,  and  that 
sort  of  thing."  A  month  ago  he  did  n't  honestly 
think  that  he  was  capable,  after  having  distributed 
his  love  so  lavishly,  of  reviving  the  divine  spark. 
But  this  child,  with  her  large  steady  eyes  and  vir- 
ginal simplicity,  had  stirred  other  and  rarer  emo- 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  151 

tions  than  those  of  passion.  Her  youth  and  trust- 
fulness touched  all  his  sense  of  respect,  her  sudden 
flashes  of  love-hunger  startled  him  like  a  crash  of 
cymbals  in  a  minuet,  and  her  strength  of  will  and 
power  of  presenting  an  attitude  of  impersonality 
that  made  her  a  little  sister  of  the  roses  put  him  on 
his  mettle.  She  was  interesting,  unexpected,  brave, 
practical,  wistful  and  as  guileless  and  aboveboard 
as  a  spring  morning. 

The  Commodore  beamed.  Had  he  exaggerated 
in  the  description  of  his  close  relationship  with  his 
son  Bill  in  that  delectable  memoir?  Let  anybody 
take  a  look  at  them  now.  ...  It  was  the  tenth  time 
that  Bill  had  been  walked  round  the  stables.  It 
was,  therefore,  the  tenth  time  that  he  had  been 
obliged  to  listen  to  exactly  the  same  anecdotes  about 
the  various  horses  and  the  way  in  which  they  were 
bred.  But  it  was  in  front  of  the  loose  box  of 
"  Beauty  Boy  ",  an  old  and  bony  hunter  with  four 
white  stockings  and  a  wall  eye,  that  the  longest  story 
was  sprung.  He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  carrying 
a  certain  lady  a  year  or  two  before  the  war  and  for 
that  reason  would  be  treated  with  every  considera- 
tion until  such  time  as  he  gave  his  final  kick. 
"  The  last  of  'em,  Bill,  the  last  of  my  loves,  my  boy. 
And  what  a  dear  beautiful  creature,  eh.  You 
remember  her,  of  course.  The  old  house  at  Epsom 
appealed  to  her  and  racing  was  in  her  blood.  .  .  . 
Not  altogether  gone,  those  happy  days.  The  lamp 
of  memory  lights  me  through  my  dullest  hours." 
Bill  led  him  away.  Not  for  the  first  time  the 


152  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

irony  of  all  this  hit  him  pretty  hard.  While  his 
father  delighted  to  bask  in  the  pale  glory  of  his 
past  misdeeds  he,  on  the  contrary,  was  eager  to  for- 
get the  past  and  push  his  foot  into  the  door  of  the 
future.  And  the  difference  in  the  point  of  view 
lay  merely  in  a  matter  of  age. 

Knowing  that  the  old  man  intended  to  make  an- 
other change  of  clothes  before  he  dressed  for  din- 
ner, in  order  to  keep  up  the  pretence  of  being  hot 
from  riding,  Bill  escorted  him  to  the  house. 
Martha  waved  from  the  garden  and  both  men  re- 
plied. 

"  A  charming  girl,  a  delightful  girl,"  said  the 
Commodore.  "  Eh,  Bill,  eh,  my  boy  ?  "  He  was 
under  a  most  solemn  promise  to  the  white-haired 
lady  to  let  things  run  their  course  without  putting 
his  ringer  on  the  pulse.  But  it  was  permissible  to  en- 
deavor to  find  out  the  state  of  Bill's  feelings  by 
dropping  a  fly  now  and  then,  just  a  blue  Jock  Scott. 

And  that  afternoon  Bill,  like  a  hungry  salmon, 
swallowed  it  whole.  He  had  been  curiously  shy 
for  the  past  month.  "  She  's  the  girl,  Father,"  he 
said  gravely.  "  She  's  so  utterly  the  girl  and  I  love 
her  so  much  that  I  'm  in  a  dead  funk  about  trying 
my  luck.".  .  .  And  he  wheeled  round  and  marched 
off  to  where  his  mother  sat  with  Martha. 

The  old  man  watched  the  tall  figure  until  it  be- 
came blurred  against  the  background.  His  sight 
was  far  from  good.  There  was  a  smile  of  huge  ex- 
citement on  his  over-massaged  face.  In  the  few 
words  that  he  had  drawn  so  unexpectedly  out  of  his 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  153 

son  there  was  enough  news  to  fill  his  wife  with  joy 
and  triumph.  Her  propinquity  scheme  had  worked 
to  perfection,  it  seemed  to  him.  He  might,  even 
yet,  make  queer  grandfatherly  noises  at  a  little 
bundle  of  humanity  that  guaranteed  the  future  of 
his  house ! 

Denham,  with  the  irritating  air  of  one  who  knew 
his  duty,  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  dressing  room. 

"  A  red  tie,  Denham,  a  red  tie,"  he  sang  out. 
"  T'lis  is  a  red-letter  day,  you  much-tried  worm." 

II 

BARCLAY  MORTIMER  was  right,  for  once,  in  be- 
lieving that  he  had  a  piece  of  news  for  his  wife. 
As  a  rule  his  great  discoveries  were  like  taking  coals 
to  Newcastle  or  imparting  the  headlines  of  yester- 
day's newspaper  to  a  diligent  student  of  current 
events.  This  time,  however,  he  had  got  hold  of 
something  that  would  send  all  her  worries  flying  and 
bring  back  her  peace  of  mind. 

During  the  month  that  had  slipped  quietly  away 
since  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  brought  Bill  and  Martha 
together  so  cunningly,  she  had  received  two  dis- 
tinct shocks.  She  had  considered  herself  to  be 
quite  certain  of  Martha.  Under  the  girl's  naive 
dignity  it  was  easy  to  see  the  flutter  of  her  heart 
when  Bill  was  near,  easy  to  read,  behind  her  mask 
of  lightness,  the  all-consuming  hope  that  burned  in 
her  eyes.  The  little  defenses  erected  by  her  protegee 
in  order  to  protect  her  secret  fell  before  the  white- 
haired  lady's  knowledge  of  human  nature.  Hith- 


154  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

erto,  however,  she  had  looked  upon  Martha  as 
merely  a  sweet,  fresh  girl,  most  suitable  as  the  fu- 
ture mother  of  Mortimers.  She  now  had  to  con- 
fess, after  these  days  of  closer  examination,  that 
she  was  not  just  the  pliable,  malleable  little  person 
of  her  supposition,  to  be  "  brought  forward  "  at  the 
right  moment  and  willingly  sacrificed  on  the  altar 
of  the  Mortimer  ambition.  With  some  concern 
she  had  discovered  that  the  child,  as  she  had  per- 
sisted in  regarding  her,  had  grit  and  courage,  and, 
what  made  her  plan  less  easy,  the  sort  of  pride  that 
demanded  a  full  and  complete  return  of  the  love  that 
she  had  nursed  during  those  three  anxious  and  de- 
plorable years.  And  the  shock  came  from  her 
knowledge  of  the  fact,  most  surprising  and  disturb- 
ing, that  Martha  was  not  the  sort  of  girl  who  had 
anything  whatever  of  the  martyr  in  her  constitu- 
tion and  could  not  be  brought  forward,  under  any 
pressure  or  persuasion,  unless  in  Bill's  proposal  there 
was  all  the  fine  fervor  of  a  lover.  Pride?  The 
child  had  as  much  of  it  as  there  is  steel  in  a  sky- 
scraper. It  was  her  backbone. 

That  shock  received,  with  its  subsequent  food  for 
thought  and  consternation,  the  other  one  was  al- 
most immediately  provided  by  Bill.  Being  her  son 
he  had  been  easier  to  read  than  Martha.  There  is 
never  anything  very  complex  about  a  man.  The 
romance  with  which  she  had  taken  care  to  flavor 
that  first  meeting  had  worked.  Lill  had  come  back 
from  it  as  pleased  as  Punch.  Here,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  was  Miss  Respectable,  Things  looked  good, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  155 

But  there  was  a  humbleness  and  a  lack  of  confidence 
about  him  which,  instead  of  fading  out  under  the 
influence  of  propinquity,  as  it  generally  does,  grew 
stronger.  He  talked  about  his  age.  He  began  to 
throw  stones  at  himself  for  his  youthful  ubiquity. 
And  the  more  he  found  in  Martha  to  respect  and  ad- 
mire the  more  doubtful  he  became  of  the  honesty  of 
asking  her  to  marry  him,  when  he  had  so  little  to 
give  in  return  for  all  that  she 'would  bring  him. 
Honesty,  —  think  of  it !  The  free  and  easy  Bill, 
the  complete  man  of  the  world,  was  not  to  be  found 
in  this  new  and  irresolute  Bill  who  put  himself  in 
the  scales  with  a  dear  nice  girl,  and  was  completely 
outweighed.  That  was  the  shock.  That  was  what 
gave  the  white-haired  lady  a  series  of  sleepless 
nights.  It  must  be  remembered,  also,  that  Bill  had 
said  that  there  could  be  no  first  lover  stuff  in  this 
matter  of  marriage  and  reconstruction  and  Mrs. 
Mortimer  was  no  believer  in  miracles.  It  was  al- 
together too  much  to  hope  for.  She  did  not  read 
into  Bill's  queer  moods  —  his  sudden  desire  to  be 
alone  for  hours  at  a  time,  his  long  silences  in  the 
drawing-room  after  dinner,  his  restlessness  and  ob- 
vious discontent  with  himself  —  that  he  had  fallen 
headlong  into  love.  If  she  had  she  would  have 
ceased  instantly  to  worry,  knowing  from  long  expe- 
rience that  love  eventually  carries  even  honesty  be- 
fore it  and  would  provide  Bill  with  all  the  excuse 
he  needed  to  go  in  and  win.  If  he  could  give 
Martha  love,  he  would  presently  argue,  he  could 
offer  her  everything  that  he  had  and  under  those 


156  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

conditions  his  conscience  would  lie  easy  and  his 
Blue  Room  remain  locked. 

Teddy  Jedburgh  was  coming  down,  it  was  pretty 
obvious,  to  a  set  of  cross  purposes  and  curious  tan- 
gents of  temperament  that  might  make  him  regret- 
ful to  leave  the  city.  A  mother  who  seemed  to  see 
her  pet  scheme  in  jeopardy,  his  pal  who  was  so  much 
in  love  that  he  was  afraid  of  being  refused,  and  a 
girl  whose  pride  was  so  strong  and  unbendable  that 
she  would  love  and  lose  rather  than  love  and  be 
sacrificed. 

And  it  had  all  looked  so  easy. 

Ill 

"  WELL,"  asked  Bill,  "  how  are  you  to-day?  " 

Martha  smiled  up  at  him.  "  As  well  as  ever," 
she  answered. 

Throwing  a  quick  glance  from  one  to  the  other, 
—  Bill  pretending  to  be  as  off-hand  as  though  talk- 
ing to  a  sister-in-law,  Martha  acting  the  part  r  I  a 
girl  who  was  obliged  to  be  civil  to  this  man  because 
she  was  a  friend  of  his  mother,  —  Mrs.  Mortimer 
was  seized  with  a  spasm  of  disappointment,  not  un- 
mixed with  irritation.  Good  Heavens,  what  were 
they  playing  at,  these  two?  Already  a  precious 
month  had  fallen  from  the  calendar  and  the  much- 
to-be-desired  marriage  was  no  nearer  than  it  had 
been.  Queer  creatures,  human  beings,  with  all  the 
handicaps  of  pride  and  conscience,  vanity  and  tem- 
peramental kinks! 

"  I  see  Albery  fluttering  on  the  veranda,"  she  said. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  157 

"  I  am  probably  needed  to  speak  to  someone  on  the 
telephone."  And  she  rose,  smiled  an  apology  and 
left  them  together.  It  was  not  up  to  her  usual 
form.  It  was  indeed  the  work  of  an  amateur.  But 
for  the  moment  she  had  lost  her  touch,  being  non- 
plussed at  the  criss-cross  way  in  which  things  were 
going.  She  was  human  too,  even  at  her  time  of 
life. 

Bill  watched  her  go,  grateful  for  her  sense  of 
sportsmanship  but  depressed  beyond  words  that  he 
was  unable  to  take  advantage  of  it.  What  on  earth 
could  this  epitome  of  everything  that  was  sweet 
and  springlike  find  in  him?  It  was  an  impertinent 
idea.  Nineteen  and  a  battered  thirty-four.  It  was 
absurd. 

Martha  made  room  on  the  stone  bench.  How 
well  he  looked  in  riding  kit.  She  loved  him  best 
like  that.  He  brought  her  photograph  to  life.  But 
what  was  the  use  ?  He  did  n't  care.  She  was  only 
the  kid  from  the  house  on  the  other  side  of  the 
brook.  "  How  did  '  White  Star  '  go?  "  she  asked, 
casually. 

"  A  good  beast,"  he  said.  "  Absolutely  wasted 
here.  He  ought  to  be  hunted  three  days  a  week. 
Jogging  along  a  bridle  path  bores  him  stiff.  Hard 
luck."  What  a  darling  she  was  in  that  jolly  little 
frock ! 

"  When  are  you  going  to  exercise  your  polo 
ponies  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  dunno.     One  of  these  days,  I  suppose." 

He  was  getting  as  bored  as  "  White  Star,"  it 


158  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

seemed  to  her,  —  and  for  much  the  same  reason. 
There  was  n't  anything  to  keep  him  in  that  quiet 
place,  now  that  he  had  given  a  month  to  his  people. 
She  dreaded  the  moment  when  he  would  say  that 
he  was  going  off  somewhere  to  do  things.  Sitting 
about  among  flowers  did  n't  suit  him.  But  his 
friend  was  coming  to  stay,  and  that  meant  another 
few  weeks  of  him,  at  any  rate  ....  Dreams  never 
came  true ! 

A  strained  silence  came  upon  them. 

Bees  carried  on,  and  a  big  robin  hauled  at  a 
worm  with  which  to  fill  a  red  and  gaping  mouth 
and  the  scent  of  roses  cloyed  the  warm  air.  What 
a  place  and  what  a  month  for  love,  —  the  one  real 
thing  that  life  could  give. 

Martha  made  another  effort.  "  Are  you  going 
to  write  a  book  about  the  war,  Major  Mortimer?  " 

Bill  darted  a  look  at  her.  Was  this  a  joke  ?  No, 
she  was  quite  in  earnest.  But  she  won  a  laugh  and 
that  was  something.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
how  to  laugh  lately.  "  I  should  n't  know  how  to 
begin,"  he  said,  "  or  how  to  go  on  if  I  did.  A 
couple  of  pages  of  slang  and  bad  spelling  and  I 
should  be  through.  I  'm  not  an  educated  man. 
I  'm  only  a  polo  player."  He  was  considerably 
flattered  at  her  question,  all  the  same.  "  And  talk- 
ing about  war  books,"  he  added,  "  I  got  on  the 
phone  to  Brentano's  the  other  day,  to  order  a  war 
book  by  a  British  officer  who  was  attached  to  us  for 
a  bit,  an  awful  good  chap  who  had  .seen  the  whole 
show  and  been  wounded  three  times.  They  told 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  159 

me  that  war  books  had  dropped  dead  twenty-four 
minutes  after  the  armistice  was  signed.  Can  you 
believe  it?  It  reminds  me  of  the  women's  shops  on 
Fifth  Avenue  that  display  bathing  dresses  with  the 
snow  on  the  ground.  Millions  of  men  died  so  that 
the  good  old  crowd  might  continue  to  swarm  in 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  what  do  they  care?  The  war 
is  n't  over  yet  by  a  long  chalk  but  it 's  the  next  sen- 
sation that  everybody  's  waiting  for.  Memory  's 
the  shortest  thing  there  is,  these  days." 

She  had  set  him  going.  And  it  did  n't  much  mat- 
ter what  he  said.  It  was  his  voice  that  she  wanted 
to  hear. 

And  catching  something  of  her  sympathy  he  went 
on,  glad  enough  to  empty  the  accumulation  of  some 
of  his  silences.  "  It 's  pretty  natural,  I  suppose. 
All  bands  play  lively  tunes  on  the  way  back  from 
funerals.  One  down,  t'  other  come  on.  There  's 
the  mopping-up  process  to  begin,  the  reconstruction 
business.  And  that 's  all  I  'm  thinking  about.  The 
new  start,  beginning  all  over  again,  setting  the  house 
in  order  after  the  debauch,  so  to  speak.  That 's  the 
next  job  plain  enough  and  I  wish  it  wras  as  easy  as 
it  looked."  He  was  thinking  aloud  rather  than 
talking,  —  worrying  the  thing  that  was  uppermost 
in  his  mind;  going  over  the  old  arguments,  in  his 
doglike  way,  in  the  hope  of  coming  out  at  the  right 
place.  He  had  not  bothered  to  use  his  brain  much. 
It  was  completely  out  of  practice.  "  Here  's  the  old 
house  and  all  that  it  stands  for.  And  here  are  my 
father  and  mother  with  the  sands  running  out, 


160  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

It 's  up  to  me  to  take  myself  by  the  scruff  of  the 
neck  and  become  serious.  But  who  's  going  to  take 
me  seriously  ?  That 's  the  point.  I  want  to  plant 
roots  and  settle  down  and  take  a  wife  and  all  that. 
Who  's  wife?  It 's  going  to  be  mighty  difficult  to 
find  a  girl  to  become  Mrs.  Bill  Mortimer,  —  I  mean 
the  girl.  I  'm  not  like  Tom  Wainwright,  in  the 
first  flush  of  giddy  youth  and  all  that.  I  'm  in  the 
middle  of  things,  with  precious  little  to  show  for 
the  beginning  .  .  .  ." 

Someone  laughed.  He  dried  up  instantly,  sur- 
prised and  self-conscious.  He  looked  round  and 
caught  a  pair  of  brown  incredulous  eyes  filled  with 
amusement,  —  frank  and  unmistakable  amusement. 
Good  Lord,  what  had  he  said  that  was  so  infernally 
funny  ? 

Martha  had  her  laugh  out.  It  came  to  an  end 
with  a  ring  of  impatience.  "  Who  's  going  to  take 
you  seriously?"  echoed.  "In  the  middle  of 
things,  —  you !  Why  is  it  going  to  be  mighty 
difficult?"  And  then  pride  holding  up  its  huge 
hand,  she  dried  up,  just  as  she  was  about  to  knock 
all  her  walls  down  and  stand  among  the  debris,  ut- 
terly exposed.  ...  If  she  had  possessed  even  half 
the  knowledge  of  men  that  belonged  to  the  vast 
majority  of  the  girls  of  her  age  she  would  have 
been  able  to  see  in  the  mood  of  this  man,  in  his 
humbleness  and  depression,  the  fact  that  he  only 
wanted  one  kind  word  to  stumble  into  a  confession 
of  love.  And  in  her  eagerness  and  joy  she  would 
have  given  him  not  one  kind  word  but  a  hundred, 


THE  BLUE   ROOM  161 

and  in  less  than  two  minutes  have  been  hiding  her 
face  against  his  shoulder.  But  what  did  she  know 
of  men  other  than  a  father  and  a  brother  and  Wop 
gardeners  and  Irish  chauffeurs,  and  the  ice-man  and 
grocers'  assistants,  the  piano-tuner  and  the  memo- 
ries of  Tom's  inarticulate  schoolfellows  who  had  fol- 
lowed each  other  about  like  geese  during  holiday 
visits  ages  ago.  But  in  Bill's  mention  of  a  vague 
girl  that  he  had  to  "  find  "  she  saw  herself  as  an  in- 
tangible thing  still  who  had  failed  to  come  through, 
who  had  not  materialized.  It  was  a  devastating 
shock. 

And  under  the  sting  of  the  laugh  that  would  have 
told  any  other  man  all  that  he  wanted  to  know,  Bill, 
going  about  like  a  cat  on  hot  bricks  in  his  dealings 
with  this  Miss  Respectable,  felt  like  a  yawl  that  had 
suddenly  lost  the  wind.  She  thought  him  funny, 
and  no  wonder.  He  was  a  laughable  object  to  a 
young  thing  to  whom  he  must  appear  to  be  in  the 
veteran  class.  A  nice  damn  thing  for  a  champion 
philanderer  to  find  that  the  first  real  love  of  his  life 
was  as  far  out  of  reach  as  the  sun ! 

He  got  up  with  an  absurd  attempt  at  a  grin.  He 
was  not  going  to  open  himself  up  for  another  such 
laugh  if  he  knew  anything  about  it.  "  Tea  's  about 
on,"  he  said.  "  Shall  we  go  up  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  only  thing  I  'm  thinking  about,"  she 
answered,  and  led  the  way  up  along  the  narrow 
rose-lined  path,  with  her  chin  in  the  air. 


162  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

IV 

A  CAR  drove  up  to  the  house  as  Bill  and  Martha 
joined  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mortimer  on  the  veranda. 

With  the  instinct  of  that  true  and  delightful  hos- 
pitality that  is  so  essentially  American  the  Old  Rip 
and  the  white-haired  lady  hastened  with  Bill  to  greet 
their  guest  on  the  threshold. 

"Hello,  Teddy!" 

"  Hello,  Bill." 

Jedburgh  gave  a  fleeting  but  appreciative  glance 
at  the  old  house  before  getting  out  of  the  car.  Hav- 
ing come  straight  from  his  work  on  the  British 
Mission  he  was  in  uniform,  and  ugly  as  its  color  was 
it  was  well  cut  and  well  ironed.  In  any  clothes  he 
was  the  sort  of  man  who  held  the  eye  because  of  his 
height  and  slightness  and  a  rather  rare  grace  that 
suggested  a  reincarnation  from  the  white  wig  pe- 
riod. 

"  Mother,"  said  Bill,  "  let  me  introduce  my  friend 
Major  Jedburgh  of  the  Royal  Air  Force." 

"  You  are  very  welcome,  Major  Jedburgh." 

Teddy  gave  her  a  ceremonial  salute  and  bent  over 
her  hand.  "  You  are  most  kind,"  he  said. 

"  My  father." 

"  Welcome  to  my  house,  Major  Jedburgh." 

The  salute  was  repeated.     "  Thank  you,  Sir." 

"  You  are  just  in  time  for  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer. 

Whereupon  recovering  his  cap,  the  Major  gave 
his  arm  to  his  hostess  and  led  the  way  to  the  table, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  163 

which  was  surrounded  by  chairs.  Albery,  who  had 
watched  all  this  Elizabethanism  with  unctuous  ap- 
preciation, bore  down  upon  the  car. 

"  Miss  Wainwright,  Major  Jedburgh." 

This  was  not  a  bit  like  the  man  that  she  had  ex- 
pected to  see. 

"  A  primrose,"  thought  Teddy,  catching  his 
breath.  And  during  the  buzz  of  talk  that  followed, 
for  some  of  which  he  was  responsible,  he  examined 
Bill's  good-looking  face  with  a  sort  of  reluctant 
eagerness.  Was  it  with  this  slice  of  spring  that  he 
was  going  to  build  a  church  out  of  the  ruins  of  his 
past  ?  .  .  .  Some  men  had  all  the  luck.  He  caught 
on  again  in  time  to  say  "  I  remember  very  well  " 
to  the  old  man's  statement  that  they  had  met  before, 
years  ago,  at  a  hunt  breakfast  at  his  father's  place 
in  Leicestershire.  He  had  clean  forgotten  the  in- 
cident. He  must  have  been  six  at  the  time. 

"  Your  mother  dined  with  me  in  London  during 
the  Coronation  season,"  said  Mrs.  Mortimer.  "  I 
shall  never  forget  her  beauty.  I  hope  that  she  is 
well." 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  Teddy.    "  But  I  hope  so  too." 

The  disconcerted  murmur  was  relieved  by  the 
pontifical  presence  of  Albery,  with  a  plate  of  hot 
muffins. 

And  during  all  this  Martha  had  watched  and 
made  notes.  .  .  .  She  could  n't  see  this  man,  with  the 
poet's  forehead  and  the  eyes  of  a  humanitarian, 
leading  a  squadron  of  death  birds  to  drop  bombs  on 
enemy  troop  trains,  and  dive  out  of  the  clouds,  with 


164  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

roaring  engines,  to  give  battle  to  a  flock  of  Huns. 
She  looked  at  the  long  line  of  ribbons  on  his  coat, 
and  the  wound  and  service  stripes  on  his  sleeve. 
But  it  was  the  lines  round  his  eyes  that  told  the 
tale.  .  .  .  Somehow  he  made  the  war  that  was  sup- 
posed to  have  ceased  stand  out  with  peculiar  crudity 
as  the  most  gigantic  paradox  in  the  history  of 
crime.  .  .  .  She  could  see  him  playing  with  children 
under  old  trees  and  sitting  with  a  smile  on  his  lips 
in  a  house  of  peace.  He  had  killed  and  offered 
himself  to  death  for  the  protection  of  the  young 
and  the  old,  —  the  pawn  of  bad  men  and  poisonous 
fetishes.  But  she  called  it  patriotism,  not  knowing. 

The  same  thought  had  come  to  Mrs.  Mortimer. 
And  when  the  Commodore  gave  her  the  chance,  — 
the  sight  of  this  Englishman  had  opened  up  many 
memories  and  recollections  of  mutual  friends, — 
she  leaned  forward.  "  Tell  me  why  you,  of  all 
men,  joined  the  Flying  Corps  ?  " 

"  It 's  extraordinary  how  many  people  have  asked 
me  that,"  he  said,  looking  at  Martha  because  he  had 
seen  that  it  was  her  question  too.  "  To  answer  you 
properly  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  have  to  go  into  the  psychol- 
ogy of  the  two  sorts  of  men  who  seized  the  chance 
of  going  up  into  the  air.  There  were  only  two 
sorts,  as  I  have  made  it  out,  and  I  think  they  were 
pretty  equally  divided.  My  sort,  to  take  that  first, 
was  made  up  of  men  who  had  been  trained  to  dis- 
cipline, but  who  detested  the  idea  of  red-tape  and 
the  necessary  but  irritating  system  of  carrying  out 
orders  that  percolated  down  through  a  dozen  au- 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  165 

tomata  from  the  hide-bound  and  generally  unimagi- 
native High  Command.  We  jumped  into  the  Fly- 
ing Corps  in  the  hope  of  escaping  from  the  irrita- 
tion of  all  that  and  because  we  saw  in  it  the  one 
opportunity  to  free-lance,  to  use  our  own  initiative 
and  to  get  out  of  the  daily  routine  of  trench  life. 
We  argued  that  as  we  were  pretty  certain  to  be 
killed  we  might  as  well  die  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb. 
We  exchanged  from  other  branches  of  the  service 
at  the  earliest  possible  moment  and  made  a  scientific 
study  of  the  new  art  as  a  sort  of  mental  refreshment. 
Don't  imagine  that  the  danger  or  the  so-called  ro- 
mance appealed  to  us.  None  of  us  wanted  to  com- 
mit suicide  or  die  before  our  time.  What  we  did 
want  was  a  certain  independence  of  action,  and  the 
brief  possession  of  our  own  souls  between  quick 
bursts  of  duty.  Some  of  us  were  poets,  some 
fathers,  and  nearly  all  of  us  loathed  war  and  the 
politicians.  The  other  sort  was  composed  of  very 
young  men,  almost  boys,  who  had  not  only  never 
been  trained  to  discipline  but  who  had  deliberately 
gone  out  of  their  way  to  ignore  all  forms  of  law 
and  order,  who  broke  speed  limits  for  the  sheer  joy 
and  mischief  of  the  thing  and  who  were  never  likely 
to  find  themselves  on  earth.  To  these  fellows,  care- 
less and  gallant,  and  wholly  imbued  with  the  spirit 
of  adventure,  the  air  was  a  new  and  appropriate 
element,  devoid  of  policemen,  magistrates,  Dons, 
Stop  and  Go  signs,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  excres- 
cences of  civilization,  as  they  regarded  them.  They 
held  their  lives  on  a  thin  string  and  although  they 


166  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

did  n't  enjoy  killing  there  grew  up  in  them  the  spirit 
of  competition  which  made  the  downing  of  enemy 
planes  the  essence  of  the  game.  They  came  to  the 
Flying  Corps  like  homing  pigeons  certain  of  finding 
kindred  spirits,  and  they  lived  in  a  continual  chaos 
of  practical  joking  and  larkiness  into  which  no  seri- 
ousness was  ever  permitted  to  put  its  foot  for  more 
than  ten  seconds.  Whether  any  of  them  found 
themselves  in  the  air  I  don't  know.  I  think  they 
had  to  die  for  that.  And  they  did  die,  in  the  great 
winnowing  of  youth,  in  shoals,  but  there  seemed  to 
be  an  unlimited  number  to  take  their  places.  The 
ones  who  came  out  alive  are  dancing  now  and  back 
at  their  old  tricks  with  added  zest.  The  dead  ones 
are  finding  out  what  it  is  to  be  understood  for  the 
first  time  and  are  very  happy,  according  to  them- 
selves." 

He  gave  a  little  laugh  and  a  gesture  of  apology 
for  having  monopolized  the  conversation.  There 
was  a  complete  silence. 

The  two  old  people,  to  whom  the  last  sentence 
opened  up  an  amazing  possibility,  gazed  with  a 
great  wistfulness  at  the  quiet  graceful  man  who 
seemed  to  have  looked  at  life  and  death  from  a 
higher  altitude  than  that  of  their  own,  and  each 
made  a  mental  note  of  an  eager  desire  to  get  him 
alone  for  further  questioning. 

Martha  had  begun  to  listen  to  all  this  with  keen 
interest,  held  by  Jedburgh's  eyes,  but  when,  because 
of  his  characteristic  courtesy,  he  turned  from  one 
to  the  other  of  his  listeners,  she  seized  the  oppor- 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  167 

tunity  to  watch  Bill  who  sat  looking  at  his  friend 
with  a  sort  of  school-boy  pride.  And  as  she  did  so 
only  the  smooth  sound  of  the  English  voice  came 
to  her.  She  lost  the  meaning  of  the  words  under  a 
sudden  fever  of  love,  an  agony  of  isolation.  .  .  .  Bill 
wanted  to  "  plant  roots  and  settle  down  and  take  a 
wife  and  all  that."  It  was  going  to  be  mighty 
difficult  to  find  a  girl  —  the  girl.  Which  proved 
that  during  the  whole  of  that  month  he  had  been 
looking  through  her  and  searching.  It  made  her 
miserable  beyond  words,  and  angry  too  and  humil- 
iated. If  she  had  known  enough  to  have  tumbled 
to  the  idea  that  she  was  being  deliberately  left  alone 
with  Bill,  brought  forward  for  his  consideration, 
she  would  have  bolted  and  disappeared,  or,  more 
probably,  being  necessary  at  home,  flared  out  into  a 
little  burst  of  redhot  words  and  told  Bill  to  go  and 
look  for  this  girl  and  not  waste  his  time  on  her. 
And  if,  knowing  everything,  the  whole  selfish 
scheme,  she  were  asked  by  Bill  to  be  his  wife  and 
were  not  supremely  satisfied  that  he  asked  for  love, 
she  would,  though  wholly  his,  consign  him  to  the 
devil  in  the  honest  Wainwright  English  picked  up 
from  her  father.  That  was  the  Martha  who  was 
just  beginning  to  be  discovered  by  the  white-haired 
lady,  to  her  surprise  and  dismay. 

Everything  had  slipped  into  a  pretty  hopeless 
mess  because  conscience  and  a  lack  of  confidence  had 
been  added  to  Bill's  other  difficulties  in  dealing  with 
Miss  Respectable. 


168  THE  BLUE   ROOM 

V 

THE  one  good  thing  about  uniform  was  that  it 
saved  a  man  from  the  fag  of  changing  for  dinner. 

But  Bill  dressed  quickly.  Martha  had  gone 
home,  but  was  to  return  with  Tom  Wainwright  to 
dine.  It  was  Mrs.  Mortimer's  idea  to  have  a  little 
party  for  Teddy  Jedburgh.  So  she  said.  Her  real 
wish  was  to  keep  Bill  and  the  child  as  much  as  pos- 
sible together.  The  Commodore  had  given  her  his 
bonne  bouche  and  her  hopes  ran  high  again.  If 
Bill  continued  to  hang  back  much  longer  she  would 
give  him  the  necessary  courage  to  propose  by  tell- 
ing him  what  she  knew  of  Martha's  feelings.  But 
this  must  be,  she  argued,  her  last  card,  her  great 
desire  being  to  keep  as  much  romance  in  her  scheme 
as  she  could.  Her  conscience  pricked  sometimes, 
too. 

Martha  had  refused  hitherto  to  leave  her  father 
in  the  evening.  It  so  happened  that  this  was  the 
night  of  an  annual  banquet  of  bankers  in  town. 
And  so  she  could  get  away,  —  mother  having  to 
keep  to  her  room  still. 

Jedburgh  was  sitting  at  the  open  window  of  his 
bedroom  when  Bill  went  in.  He  was  reading  a  thin 
book  of  poems  and  smoking.  One  long  leg  was 
crossed  over  the  other  and  that  faint  indefinable 
smile  was  playing  round  his  lips. 

"  Good  for  you,  old  thing,"  he  said.  "  What 's 
the  news  ?  " 

"  Nothing  here.     What 's  yours  ?  " 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  169 

"  Well,  a  certain  amount  of  quiet  work  with  those 
very  excellent  fellows  in  Whitehall  Street,  a  thor- 
ough exploration  by  day  of  the  obvious  parts  of  New 
York,  the  amazing  city,  and  some  rather  disturbing 
evenings  at  your  very  nice  apartment  with  Jeanne 
Dacoral,  Birdie  Carroll  and  Susie  Hatch,  especially 
Susie  Hatch." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  —  disturbing  ?  " 

"  Well,  one  or  other  of  them,  sometimes  two  and 
once  or  twice  all  three,  have  come  up  most  nights  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  you.  Don't  imagine  for  a  mo- 
ment, my  dear  chap,  that  I  use  the  word  disturbing 
in  a  personal  sense.  I  like  them,  especially  Susie 
Hatch.  And  Jeanne  is  a  dear  little  soul  who  makes 
the  piano  speak  her  thoughts.  And  Birdie  Carroll, 
with  her  round  face  and  her  urgent  need  of  seeds 
and  sugar,  lives  up  to  her  name,  except  that  thank 
Heaven  she  does  n't  carol." 

Bill  laughed.  "  You  're  right,"  he  said.  "  She  's 
in  musical  comedy." 

Teddy  Jedburgh  marked  the  point  with  one  of 
his  airy  waves  of  the  hand.  It  was  n't  a  Latin 
gesture.  It  was  Oxford. 

"  What  I  mean  is,  they  're  worried  about  you, 
old  thing." 

"Me?     Why?" 

"  Well,  where  are  you  ?  That 's  the  question  they 
keep  asking.  *  Where  's  Bill,  and  what  the  hell 's 
he  playing  at  ?  What 's  come  over  the  man  ?  We 
want  him.  How  much  longer  is  he  going  to  keep 
up  this  old-home  week?  Has  he  turned  good  and 


170  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

gone  into  hair  shirts?  Is  he  shaking  us', —  ad- 
mirable expression,  —  '  and  left  you  behind  to  let 
us  down  easy  ?  ' 

Bill  worried  his  brush-like  mustache.  "  Um 
...  I  see.  You  must  have  cursed  those  rooms  a 
bit.  I  'm  darned  sorry,  Teddy." 

"  No,  no,  no,  really.  They  're  the  only  home 
I  Ve  got,  and  your  young  friends  have  protected 
me  from  an  overwhelming  loneliness.  Of  course 
I  said  nothing  about  your  —  what  did  you  call  it? 
—  orgy  of  reconstruction  and  all  that.  I  had  n't 
your  permission.  I  knew  nothing  except  that  you 
wanted  naturally  to  give  yourself  to  your  people 
and  so  forth  and  played  host.  Very  instructive. 
My  education  has  been  greatly  improved.  But  in 
going  back  to  Susie  Hatch,  Bill,  —  well,  I  think  you 
must  use  imagination  and  immense  sympathy.  At 
once.  She  would  n't  open  up  and  show  her  little 
soul  to  me  to  save  herself  from  torture.  You  know 
that.  But  she  's  hurt,  old  son,  deeply  and  badly 
hurt.  You  haven't  even  written  her  a  note  since 
you  left  town  and  she  's  like  a  flower  in  a  drought." 

Bill  worried  more.  "  Damn  everything,"  he  said, 
obviously  moved.  He  began  to  stride  about  that 
neat,  quaint,  very  perfect  room  with  its  Colonial 
bed  and  tall-boy,  writing  desk  and  dressing  table, 
all  rosy  like  the  face  of  an  old  apple  woman.  .  .  . 
The  admirable  expression  to  shake  could  n't  be 
linked  on  to  the  word  past,  it  seemed.  Not  that, 
with  second  thoughts,  it  mattered  much.  Martha 
had  laughed,  But,  thinking  again,  Bill  was  going 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  171 

to  be  a  good  boy  now  anyhow,  —  and  how  about 
Susie  Hatch,  to  say  nothing  of  the  other  wild  oats? 
He  had  n't,  in  his  absurd  ecstasy,  made  the  remotest 
attempt  to  cut  them  down.  In  cutting  Susie  there 
would  be  blood  on  his  scythe.  "  Damn  every- 
thing," he  said  again,  "  especially  me." 

"  Yes,  but  speaking  frankly,"  said  Jedburgh, 
"  that  does  n't  achieve  much,  old  thing.  I  think 
you  ought  to  see  her  and  let  her  into  your  new  plans 
as  gently  as  you  can.  I  would  have  been  glad 
enough,  a  few  weeks  ago,  to  have  taken  Susie  off 
your  hands,  and  been  very  good  to  her.  She  could 
have  married  me  if  that  would  have  appealed  to  her 
peculiar  sense  of  humor." 

"  Good  Lord,"  said  Bill. 

"  Why?  This  is  an  age  of  revolutions.  I  'm  no- 
body. She  has  youth,  —  that 's  the  New  Aristoc- 
racy. But  I  found  that  tradition  dies  hard  and 
ideals  have  a  knack  of  appearing  to  be  dead  with 
their  hearts  still  beating.  I  don't  want  a  mere 
temporary  passion  that  ends  in  a  sordid  settlement 
and  a  sense  of  shame.  I  want  love  and  a  home  and 
she  can't  give  me  these.  Neither  can  I  give  them 
to  her,  much  as  I  like  her.  So  I  'm  still  on  the  look- 
out, but  with  my  feet  too  deeply  planted  in  old 
dreams  to  be  satisfied  with  the  sort  of  philandering 
that  I  discussed  with  you.  Mental  shell  shock 
has  lifted  a  bit,  you  see.  Things  have  become  diffi- 
cult as  a  result." 

"  I  '11  go  up  and  see  her  to-morrow,"  said  Bill. 

And  then  Jedburgh  put  the  question  that  had  been 


172  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

in  his  mind  since  the  moment  that  he  had  caught 
sight  of  the  primrose.  A  flower  of  a  girl  with  the 
dew  on  her  and  a  morning  hymn  in  her  eyes.  That 
description  fitted  her  like  a  glove.  Was  she  to  be 
asked  to  follow  after  Jeanne  Dacoral,  Birdie  Car- 
roll and  Susie  Hatch,  —  especially  Susie  Hatch  ? 
And  the  others  ?  He  was  Bill's  friend.  He  under- 
stood the  need  of  the  man  with  the  pathetic  eager- 
ness to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  All  the  same  .... 

"  Tell  me  about  Miss  Wainwright,  Bill." 

"  There  is  n't  anything  to  tell,  Teddy.  You  see 
what  she  is,  and  how  exactly  she  fits  into  the  niche 
where  I  would  put  her.  I  've  spent  a  month  trying 
to  make  her  like  me,  but  it 's  not  coming  out  right. 
She  laughed  this  afternoon  when  I  roughed  out  my 
idea.  As  you  say,  youth's  the  New  Aristocracy. 
Without  any  of  your  traditions  I  'm  on  the  lookout 
too.  Reconstruction  is  n't  so  derned  easy  as  it 
seemed." 

And  Jedburgh  inwardly  confessed  to  a  reluctant 
sense  of  relief.  The  primrose  deserved  better  than 
to  have  a  Blue  Room  in  her  house.  Youth  to 
Youth,  —  it  was  the  old  good  story. 

"  Better  luck,  Bill,"  he  said. 

It  was  the  same  old  world  to  which  they  had  both 
come  back. 

VI 

THE  wine  cellars  were  well  stocked  in  the  Morti- 
mer House.  Teddy  Jedburgh  and  Tom  Wainwright 
paid  proper  tribute  to  the  Veuve  Clicquot  '09  and  the 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  173 

priceless  Napoleon  brandy.  The  only  satisfaction 
Barclay  Mortimer  got  out  of  it  was  in  watching  the 
enjoyment  of  his  guests.  To  his  eloquently  ex- 
pressed regret  his  drink  was  barley  water,  — 
"  ghastly  stuff,  my  dear  Major,  as  joyless  as  a  rainy 
day." 

As  soon  as  the  men  left  the  dining  table  for  the 
drawing  room,  never  dreaming  that  even  at  that 
moment  certain  sly  fanatics  were  at  work  with 
bribes  and  blackmail  to  put  the  country  under  the 
heel  of  a  law  that  would  sweep  away  the  effects  of 
education  and  self -discipline  because  the  vast  mi- 
nority forgot  both,  Bill  shut  himself  up  with  the  tele- 
phone. As  good  as  his  word,  he  was  going  to  make 
an  appointment  to  see  Susie  Hatch  in  the  morning. 
He  hated  the  idea  of  her  being  hurt,  although  he 
didn't  see  what  he  could  do  to  make  things  any 
better.  He  knew  Susie. 

Mrs.  Mortimer's  high  spirits  were  contagious. 
The  Commodore,  wearing  again  the  ribbon  of  the 
Legion  d'Honneur,  was  in  his  best  mood.  His 
stories  were  delightful,  and  told  with  more  economy 
of  detail  than  usual.  They  were  new  to  Jedburgh 
and  Tom  Wainwright  and  went  well.  The  only 
thing  new  in  them  to  the  white-haired  lady  and  Bill 
was  the  way  in  which  they  were  sprung.  But  they 
both  laughed  at  the  right  moment  with  more  loyalty 
than  is  generally  shown  by  members  of  much  tried 
families  to  the  chestnuts  of  the  heads  of  them. 
With  a  sense  of  appreciation  in  which  there  were 
both  humor  and  pathos  the  old  boy  thanked  them 


- 


174  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

for  this  as  soon  as  he  could.     His  manners  were  of 
the  old  ripe  school. 

Tom  took  the  place  on  the  sofa  by  Mrs.  Morti- 
mer, so  Jedburgh  availed  himself  of  the  chance  to 
lean  over  the  piano  and  get  a  few  words  with 
Martha,  who  had  been  playing.  She  had  a  pretty 
touch. 

"  You  must  be  very  proud  of  your  brother,"  he 
said. 

Martha's  smile  was  exactly  what  he  hoped  to  see. 
It  added  to  his  feeling  of  "  not  belonging,"  though, 
—  to  an  infinite  loneliness.  "  We  are,"  she  said. 

"  I  came  over  on  the  same  ship.  His  eagerness 
to  get  back  added  a  beat  a  minute  to  the  engines. 
A  born  soldier,  as  he  showed  by  his  imaginative 
treatment  of  his  men.  He  ought  to  sacrifice  his 
career  and  stay  in  your  army.  He  '11  be  needed 
again  sooner  or  later." 

"  You  don't  believe  in  the  League  of  Nations 
then?" 

Jedburgh  waved  his  hand.  "  Human  nature 
can't  be  altered  by  a  set  of  rules,  nor  can  the  millen- 
nium be  achieved  on  this  planet  by  anything  that 
we  can  do.  '  A  Man's  reach  must  exceed  his  grasp 
or  what 's  a  Heaven  for  ?  ' 

"  That 's  an  awful  thing  to  say  to  women." 

"Why  to  women?" 

"  We  have  to  stay  at  home  and  eat  our  hearts 
out." 

"  If  you  did  n't  it  is  doubtful  if  there  'd  be  any 
men  to  come  back  to  you." 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  175 

She  got  up  so  that  her  face  should  be  out  of  the 
spread  of  light.  This  man  could  easily  read  her 
secret,  she  felt. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  Jedburgh.  "Sit  here  and  I  '11 
play  you  the  story  of  this  war,  —  I  mean  if  you  'd 
care  to  hear  it." 

Martha  sat  down  and  leaned  forward.  Play  and 
fight,  and  read  secrets,  —  what  else  could  he  do? 

Jedburgh  drew  up  to  the  piano  and  held  his  hands 
over  the  keys  for  a  moment. 

They  came  down  with  a  crash  of  discords.     The 
Old  Rip  nearly  jumped  out  of  his  shirt.     It  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  great  burst  of  drums  and  bugles,  a  med- 
ley of  the  Wacht  am  Rhein,  the  Marseillaise  and  the 
Braban^onne,  and  after  a  moment  of  chaos  and  inde- 
cision of  God   Save  the  King.      Then  the  music 
swelled  into  a  broad  tremendous  swing  with  an  un- 
dercurrent  of   running    feet,   children's   whimpers, 
women's  urgings  and  the  pathetic  grumbling  of  old 
people,  the  explosion  of  guns,  queer  laughter,  pierc- 
ing screams,  the  rumble  of  retreating  wagons  and 
the  faint  persistent  singing  of  "  Tipperary,"  "  Old 
yer  'and  out,  naughty  boy,"  and  the  Russian  Na- 
tional anthem.     There  was  a  scrambling  of  high 
notes,  rush,  ecstasy,  effort,  a  deep  booming  in  the 
bass,  strong,  dull  and  death  dealing,  and  in  it  all  the 
wail   and   stumble   of   crowds   hurrying.     Then   a 
series  of  melodies,  sometimes  sweet  and  cathedral- 
like,  sometimes  grossly  banal  and  of  the  music-hall 
and  the  cafe,  sometimes  all  queer  and  out  of  time, 
then  drab  and  in  the  minor  and  always  with  the  old 


176  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

boom  and  shatter.  Sometimes  an  ecstatic  burst  of 
the  Marseillaise  would  sweep  out  again,  urging  and 
appealing,  running  into  Tipperary  with  little  flares 
of  the  Brabanc.onne  and  the  distant  suggestion  of 
Russian  music,  the  hoarse  roar  of  the  Wacht  am 
Rhein,  renewed  monotony  and  through  it  all  boy- 
laughter  and  the  tang  of  wires  against  the  wind. 
And  again  the  dull  and  banal  and  the  monoto- 
nous with  the  steady  boom  and  shatter,  edging  some- 
times on  the  satiric  but  never  again  touching  the 
ecstatic  or  the  religious  and  with  no  suggestion  of 
the  anthems  of  the  nations  except  for  a  quick  break 
into  that  of  Italy.  And  so  it  went  on,  with  a  brief 
clang  of  quarrels,  mutinies,  lunatic  cries,  stern  or- 
ders, grim  steadyings,  an  undercurrent  of  synco- 
pation and  the  swirl  of  dancing  feet.  Airs  that  be- 
gan as  hymns  ended  as  fox-trots,  —  the  boom  and 
the  shatter  prevailing.  And  then  came  a  new  and 
curious  twist  of  angry  protest  at  once  subdued,  of 
cynicism  and  argument,  which  was  drowned  by  the 
clatter  of  kettle-drums,  the  splitting  of  air  bombs, 
the  tang  of  wires,  women's  moaning,  the  glib  chat- 
ter of  politicians  and  falling  rain.  Monotony, 
monotony,  tinged  with  yet  another  new  thing,  — 
atheism,  but  still  the  same  old  boom  and  shatter. 
And  then,  suddenly,  panic,  chaos,  unholy  fear,  an 
onward  rush,  jeers  and  laughter  and  yells,  the  ut- 
ter disappearance  of  jazz,  once  more  the  organ 
notes  in  terrified  appeal,  the  awful  nearness  of  the 
boom  and  shatter,  the  blare  of  the  Star-Spangled 
Banner,  a  change  into  another  medley  of  national 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  177, 

melodies,  the  gradual  fading  of  the  roar  of  guns  — 
and  silence.  But  only  for  the  edge  of  a  moment. 
Jazz  came  again,  jazz,  loud  and  persistent,  jazz  and 
the  swirl  of  dancing  feet  and  women's  laughter,  the 
moaning  of  great  ships  and  cripples,  the  idiotic 
jabber  of  political  voices,  the  hoarse  triumph  of 
Bolsheviki,  the  satirical  questioning  of  atheists  with 
pens,  the  swirl  of  dancing  feet.  .  .  . 

"  Good  God,"  gasped  Barclay  Mortimer,  drawing 
two  fingers  across  a  wet  forehead. 

But  Teddy  Jedburgh  did  n't  leave  the  piano.  He 
sat  with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  pale,  and  looking 
through  things  with  that  faint  indefinable  smile  on 
his  lips.  Presently  his  hands  touched  the  notes 
again  and  out  into  the  room  floated  the  sound  of 
"  Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot  —  " 

But  he  stopped  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a  bar 
because  Martha  burst  out  crying  and  ran  into  the 
moonlight. 

VII 

MRS.  MORTIMER  would  have  given  a  great  deal 
for  Bill  to  have  been  in  the  room  when  this  hap- 
pened. At  a  sign  from  her  he  would  have  followed 
Martha  out.  A  woman's  crying,  according  to  her 
experience,  had  one  of  two  different  effects  on  a  man 
in  love.  Both  caused  him  to  lose  his  head,  but  one 
made  him  curse  and  the  other  gave  him  courage  to 
take  her  in  his  arms.  She  would  have  gambled  on 
the  latter.  But  he  was  trying,  at  the  moment,  to 
persuade  a  telephone  operator  to  get  the  number 


178  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

that  he  required  instead  of  the  one  she  considered 
that  he  ought  to  have,  and  the  great  opportunity 
passed.  A  chat  with  a  blind  beggar  on  his  way  to 
the  House  of  Commons  once  brought  about  the 
downfall  of  a  Prime  Minister. 

And  so  Barclay  Mortimer  performed  the  act  of 
consolation  in  his  best  manner.  He  was  a  master 
of  the  art.  His  dear  Italian  had  often  wept  for  no 
apparent  reason  and  the  little  lady  who  had  hunted 
Beauty  Boy  had  had  a  most  disconcerting  way  of 
bursting  into  tears  at  the  most  inconvenient  mo- 
ments. It  was,  and  always  will  be,  woman's  rudi- 
mentary method  of  claiming  the  undivided  atten- 
tion and  the  reassurance  of  love  that  she  needs  so 
often. 

Martha  was  laughing  when  she  was  escorted  back 
to  the  drawing  room.  She  said  that  she  had  cried 
for  all  the  boys  who  had  been  killed.  She  was 
obliged  to  offer  some  excuse.  But  she  knew,  and 
Mrs.  Mortimer  guessed,  that  she  had  suddenly  lost 
her  self-control,  under  the  effect  of  Jedburgh's  im- 
pressionistic sketch,  as  the  logical  outcome  of  a 
month  of  many  emotions. 

The  evening  ended  early  because  Martha  had  is- 
sued solemn  warnings  as  to  the  Mortimer  habits. 
The  alacrity  with  which  the  Commodore  sprang  to 
his  feet  when  Tom  made  the  first  tentative  move 
confirmed  his  sister's  knowledge.  Denham  had  al- 
ready been  waiting  for  fifteen  minutes  with  all  his 
paraphernalia. 

Bill  and  Teddy  walked  a*  far  as  the  brook.     It 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  179 

was  a  very  perfect  June  night,  still  and  warm,  and 
so  white  and  clear  that  the  trees  threw  shadows  and 
some  of  the  daisies  had  forgotten  to  close  their 
eyes.  A  full  moon  occupied  her  cold  impersonal 
place  among  the  uncountable  lights  of  the  islands 
of  the  sky.  Bill's  soul  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of 
bothering  him  on  his  easy  way  through  life.  But 
that  night,  for  reasons  that  had  been  piling  up  re- 
cently, he  felt  a  longing  to  stand  on  some  high  place 
and  look  down  upon  the  earth,  —  to  take  a  glance 
back  and  to  gaze  into  the  future.  And  what  better 
companion  could  he  have  on  this  brief  excursion 
than  the  ex-flying  man  whose  feet  were  planted 
deeply  in  old  dreams,  and  whose  ideals  had  not, 
after  all,  been  left  among  the  mud  and  bones  of 
Flanders.  And  so  he  led  the  way  up  to  the  Hill  of 
the  Seven  Sisters  and  sat  down  with  Teddy  on  the 
bench  which  had  been  the  prie-dieu  of  his  mother 
and  his  girl. 

Away  below,  all  lucent  under  the  white  light  of 
the  moon,  lay  that  great  stretch  of  peaceful  country, 
a  panorama  of  slanting  valley  and  sleeping  trees,  of 
small  villages  winking  a  few  tired  eyes,  a  wide  lake 
glistening  like  a  looking  glass,  and  a  range  of  hills 
in  the  distance  that  made  a  rolling  smudge  against 
the  sky. 

"  Oh,  my  God !  "  he  said  involuntarily. 

And  Teddy  nodded.  "  A  cathedral,  roofless, 
echoing  with  the  passing  feet  of  worshipers,  and 
the  song  of  understanding  of  the  survivors  of 
death." 


180  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

And  after  a  long  pause  Bill  began  to  talk.  "  I 
wish  I  'd  come  across  you  before,  when  I  was  a  bit 
of  a  boy." 

"Why?" 

"  There  's  a  lot  of  stuff  in  you  that  I  've  never 
known  about.  I  have  traditions,  —  you  've  seen 
the  walls  to-night.  But  somehow,  Teddy,  I  never 
caught  their  meaning.  You  caught  the  meaning 
of  yours  and  you  might  have  explained  them  to  me 
to  soak  into  my  imagination.  There  's  just  a  chance 
that  I  should  n't  have  had  to  feel  so  cursed  sick  of 
myself  as  I  do  to-night,  —  and  have  done  since  I 
began  to  think." 

"  Maybe,"  said  Jedburgh.  "  What  I  call  tradi- 
tion led  me  through  school  and  college  with  a  pretty 
firm  hand.  But  when  I  came  over  here,  homeless 
and  with  the  dust  in  my  eyes  that  rose  up  from  the 
debris  of  the  old  order  of  things,  I  regretted  that 
I  had  been  so  much  a  prig  as  to  have  missed  the 
human  links  that  you  have  made.  There  is  n't  a 
living  creature  to  catch  a  signal  from  me,  —  no 
Susie  Hatch  to  light  up  my  rooms  with  a  blaze  of 
love.  There  are  no  memories  in  my  isolation,  Bill. 
And  what  after  all  has  my  tradition  done  for  me  ?  " 

"  Left  you  without  a  Blue  Room,  old  son." 

"  But  is  n't  it  better  to  have  a  Blue  Room  than  no 
rooms  at  all  ?  " 

"  No.  You  can  build  a  new  house  and  leave  all 
the  doors  unlocked." 

"  That 's  true.  .  .  .  The  past  has  an  ugly  knack 
of  running  ahead  of  the  present  and  turning  round 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  181 

to  grin.  Quaint  thing  that  we  have  come  out  at 
the  same  place  by  such  different  paths." 

Bill  heaved  a  sigh  that  seemed  to  come  up  from 
his  boots.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  which 
way  to  go,  now  that  I  'm  here." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Jedburgh.  Loyalty  to  his 
friend  put  up  a  huge  wall  in  front  of  a  picture  that 
had  been  filling  his  eye  persistently  all  the  evening, 
—  the  primrose  in  a  garden  that  he  had  made. 
There  was  something  quite  devilishly  ironical  in  the 
fact  that  in  Martha  who  was  loved  by  Bill  he  had 
found  the  one  girl  who  had  done  strange  things  to 
his  heart. 

"  Let 's  go  home,"  said  Bill. 

It  was  an  enviable  home  in  spite  of  its  Blue  Room. 
The  first  that  Jedburgh  had  known  since  the  war 
began  its  demolishment.  They  went  down  to- 
gether, leaving  the  Seven  Sisters  to  gossip  about  the 
things  to  which  they  had  just  listened.  "  Are  you 
going  up  to  see  Susie  Hatch  to-morrow?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bill.  "  She  's  coming  to  my  room 
for  lunch." 

What  he  called  tradition  urged  Teddy  to  play  the 
straight  game.  "  Don't  go  back  on  your  tracks, 
Bill.  You  know  those  lines  about  rising  on  step- 
ping stones.  Give  yourself  another  chance  with 
Martha.  If  you  have  the  luck  to  make  her  love  you 
you  can  board  up  that  old  Blue  Room  of  yours. 
It 's  been  done  before." 

"  If  I  could  make  her  love  me  I  'd  never  give  her 
time  to  pry  about.  I  'd  make  every  other  room  too 


182  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

attractive.  But  it  is  n't  on  the  cards,  Teddy.  She 
laughed  this  afternoon." 

"  Never  mind.  Do  nothing  to-morrow  to  make 
reconstruction  impossible.  You  were  born  under  a 
good  star." 

"You  advise  that?" 

"  I  do.  And  then  come  back  and  go  to  work 
again.  The  odds  are  all  in  your  favor  ".  .  .  He 
was  no  poacher.  Nor  had  the  utter  demoralization 
that  followed  war  changed  his  ideas  of  friendship. 
His  feet  were  deeply  planted  in  old  dreams  and  he 
could  n't  pull  them  out.  Only  if  Bill  failed  would 
he  scramble  up  and  climb  over  that  infernally  high 
wall.  It  would  be  fairer  than  to  try  and  win  this 
primrose  for  himself. 

VIII 

THERE  was  precious  little  conceit  about  Bill. 
The  usual  amount  of  egotism,  of  course,  —  the  de- 
sire for  comfort  and  the  incurable  habit  of  believing 
that  the  world  revolved  around  himself,  —  without 
which  nature  would  not  be  human,  but  none  of  the 
preening  sense  of  being  indispensable  that  goes  with 
women's  men.  Bill  was  not  a  woman's  man.  He 
was  an  outdoor  man  who  liked  to  see  a  woman  in 
his  house  when  it  was  necessary  to  go  in.  It  was  in 
the  winter  that  he  had  mostly  been  caught.  Wo- 
men meant  more  to  him,  therefore,  than  to  one 
whose  only  hobby  was  to  pursue,  and  if  he  had  ana- 
lyzed his  state  of  mind  during  his  bad  weather  in- 
terludes, —  a  thing  he  never  did,  —  he  would  have 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  183 

assured  himself  that  he  had  been  the  one  who  had 
been  hit,  though  not  very  hard.  He  had  been  ac- 
cepted, he  had  always  considered,  for  the  good 
things  that  he  had  gone  out  of  his  way  to  give  and 
afterwards  had  continued  to  be  looked  up  from  time 
to  time  because  relations  had  warmed  into  friend- 
ship. Jeanne  Dacoral,  Birdie  Carroll  and  the 
others,  —  dear  little  souls,  —  had  gone  on  with  light 
hearts  to  other  interests.  He  had  delighted  in  see- 
ing them  whenever  they  had  had  nothing  better  to 
do  and  had  taken  a  keen  pleasure  in  proving  his 
gratitude  whenever  they  had  thrown  out  a  hint,  — 
often  before.  His  hand  went  to  his  pocket  without 
an  effort. 

But  the  case  of  Susie  Hatch  was  different,  and 
this  he  knew.  She  was  n't  a  City  bred  child,  born 
sophisticated,  who  realized  the  asset  of  sex  as  a 
perfectly  natural  thing,  and  never  allowed  herself 
to  take  her  lucky  strikes  too  seriously.  She  was  a 
sea-flower,  born  during  the  drive  of  a  storm  to  the 
cantata  of  tumultuous  seas  and  catastrophic  winds. 
Her  heart  had  been  blown  clean  by  salt  breezes  and 
her  soul  filled  with  faithfulness  by  the  wonder  of 
the  skies.  She  had  watched  the  faint  horizon  for 
the  ship  of  her  dreams,  had  recognized  its  lines  in 
the  yacht  that  Bill  had  owned  and  known  in  Bill 
her  master  and  mate.  He  had  given  her  life  and 
affection  in  return  for  the  loyalty  and  devotion  of  a 
stray  dog.  She  belonged  to  him,  had  cleaved  to 
him,  like  ivy  to  a  wall.  If  he  threw  her  back  into 
the  sea  ehe  might  have  forgotten  how  to  swim.  If 


184  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

he  cut  her  down  among  his  wild  oats  there  would  be 
blood  on  the  scythe.  .  .  . 

Difficult  ?  Good  Lord,  yes.  He  did  n't  love  her 
and  he  did  love  Martha,  and  even  if  he  had  loved  her 
could  he  take  her  home  to  those  two  fastidious 
people  who  were  thinking  of  his  wife  as  the  mother 
of  his  race? 

The  car  landed  him  at  his  apartment  twenty  min- 
utes too  early  for  his  appointment.  But  when  he 
let  himself  in  she  was  kneeling  on  the  window  seat 
with  the  sun  in  her  hair,  as  lonely  as  a  sea  gull 
perched  on  an  isolated  rock.  "  Use  imagination 
and  immense  sympathy,"  Teddy  had  said.  "  She 's 
hurt,  old  son,  deeply  and  badly  hurt."  If  he  let  her 
into  his  plans,  however  gently,  what  would  she  do  ? 
About  any  other  girl  he  would  have  used  the  word 
'  say '. 

"Hello,  Susie!" 

The  color  rushed  into  her  face  as  she  wheeled 
round.  It  was  a  thin  face,  he  noticed  with  a  qualm, 
with  eyes  that  told  of  sleepless  nights.  But  the 
veneer  of  self-assurance  and  almost  insolent  cool- 
ness behind  which  she  had  found  it  necessary  to  hide 
was  instantly  assumed  from  force  of  habit.  In  all 
cities  there  are  men  among  whom  the  unprotected 
girl  must  stand  in  armor.  Bill  had  been  away  for 
a  month  and  had  never  written,  a  line. 

"  I  did  n't  believe  you  'd  come,"  she  said. 

How  she  reminded  him  of  Martha  by  the  angle  of 
her  chin.  "  Have  I  ever  been  late  before?  " 

"  Before  's  so  long  ago  I  almost  forget."     But  she 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  185 

went  closer,  step  by  step,  like  a  child  who  loved  in 
spite  of  punishment,  and  put  her  face  against  his 
heart.  After  all  it  might  only  have  been  his  people 
who  had  kept  him  away,  and  he  hated  writing  let- 
ters. 

Bill  was  at  an  utter  loss  for  words.  From  his 
point  of  view  and  that  of  his  father  and  mother  ex- 
cuses were  only  to  be  made  as  a  matter  of  form. 
He  had  no  remote  idea  of  getting  out  of  his  respon- 
sibilities towards  this  girl,  and  it  was  his  plan  to 
double  the  income  that  was  paid  to  her  by  his  law- 
yers. From  her  point  of  view,  as  he  could  see,  he 
had  been  cruel  and  neglectful  and  she  ached  to  hear 
that  he  was  sorry.  Anyone  less  soft-hearted  than 
Bill  would  have  been  able  to  deal  with  the  situation 
without  blundering,  in  a  perfectly  matter-of-fact 
way.  Conditions  had  changed.  New  plans  had 
to  be  made.  Lawyers  had  been  instructed  on  the 
question  of  money.  Good  memories  would  always 
remain  and  friendly  relations  continue,  with  due 
care  for  the  conventions,  —  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  .  .  .  Not  so  Bill.  He  had  tried  to  rehearse 
the  gist  of  all  this  on  his  way  to  the  City  and  had 
succeeded  in  putting  together  a  sort  of  statement  in 
which  the  sordid  and  the  cold-blooded  were  alto- 
gether absent.  But  the  sight  and  the  touch  of  this 
sea-child  confused  him  and  put  him  in  the  wrong 
and  sent  all  his  sentences  into  a  muddle  of  letters. 

"  Damn  the  war,"  he  said,  with  not  so  much  ir- 
relevancy as  one  might  think. 

And  she  jumped  at  it  as  the  thing  that  was  wholly 


186  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

to  blame,  and  held  up  her  face  as  she  had  done  the 
day  of  her  discovery  as  a  stowaway. 

Bill  was  going  to  be  a  good  boy  now,  according 
to  himself,  — but  he  kissed  her,  and  she  was  happy 
and  forgave.  All  the  black  thoughts  that  had  come 
to  her  in  sleepless  nights  lifted  and  disappeared. 
Bill  had  come  back.  Everything  was  good  once 
more. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  and  tell  me  everything,"  she 
said,  and  ran  him  to  the  big  settee,  plumped  him  into 
it  and  curled  up  at  his  side  with  her  arms  round  his 
neck. 

How  on  earth  was  he  to  do  this  thing?  Recon- 
struction? It  was  easier  said  than  done  with  Miss 
Respectable  on  one  side  and  Susie  Hatch  on  the 
other.  "  I  wish  to  God  I  loved  you,"  he  said  to 
himself,  looking  into  the  girl's  devoted  eyes.  "  I  'd 
take  you  home  whatever  they  said  and  there  'd  be  no 
Blue  Room  there  for  you,  my  dear." 

She  read  it  as  she  wished  to  read  it  and  snuggled 
closer.  Good  times  had  come  again. 

"  Your  father  and  mother  have  made  a  great  fuss 
of  you,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Of  course  they  have.  And  it  was  just  you,  Bill, 
to  give  them  all  these  weeks.  And  now  the  '  lo- 
lanthe '  and  the  wind  and  salt  and  me.  Is  that  the 
scheme  ?  I  'm  starving  for  the  lap  of  water  and 
the  mewing  of  gulls  and  you." 

Good  God ! 

"  Don't  let 's  take  Teddy  Jedburgh.     I  like  him, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  187 

—  he  's  a  fairy  tale,  but  let 's  go  off  alone.  Let 's 
go  back  to  the  old  places  and  pretend  the  war  was  a 
nightmare.  I  have  n't  been  tanned  for  years." 

"  I  've  sold  the  '  lolanthe,'  "  said  Bill. 

"  What  ?  .  .  .  Well,  buy  another.  There  are  lots 
to  be  had.  It 's  June,  Bill,  and  the  sun  's  warming 
up." 

"  It  can't  be  done,  Susie." 

"  Oh  Bill !  .  .  .  Well  then,  find  a  cottage  all  by 
itself  on  the  dunes  and  let 's  be  sand  boys.  Nothing 
matters  but  the  sea  and  you." 

The  thing  had  to  be  faced.  "  Would  it  be  the 
same,  or  something  like  it,  if  you  took  Jeanne  or 
Birdie,  —  or  anyone  else  instead  ?  .  .  ." 

Her  laugh  rang  through  the  room,  went  flying  out 
of  the  window  and  was  caught  in  the  breeze  that 
carried  it  away  over  the  Plaza.  "How  you  love 
to  tease  me,  don't  you  ?  "  she  said,  tightening  her 
clasp. 

That  cursed  scythe.  How  he  detested  to  have  to 
use  it.  "  No,  I  'm  dead  serious,"  he  went  on,  like  a 
bull  in  a  china  shop.  "  You  've  got  to  count  me 
outj  Susie." 

She  put  her  head  back  so  that  she  could  examine 
his  face.  "  I  don't  get  you,"  she  said,  her  smile 
going  out.  She  began  to  look  thin  again. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should.  I  'm  no  good  at 
things  like  this.  It 's  not  in  my  line.  But  if  I 
could  begin  to  tell  you  of  the  sort  of  mood  I  came 
back  and  went  home  with,  knowing  that  I  've  played 
about  long  enough,  and  then  finding  my  father  and 


188  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

mother  pretty  old,  Susie,  and  mighty  keen  for  me 
to  cut  bachelor  stuff  and  settle  down  and  take  a 
wife  .  .  ." 

She  withdrew  herself,  slowly  and  coldly,  and 
stood  with  her  foot  on  the  bear's  head  and  her  back 
to  the  empty  firegrate.  Behind  the  armor  into 
which  she  had  dived  again  her  young  body  was  all 
bruised  by  this  blow.  "  Don't  worry  about  all  the 
rest  of  it,"  she  said.  "  I  can  guess,  Bill.  Why 
didn't  you  write  it?  It  would  have  saved  you 
coming  up  and  having  to  stumble  it  all  out." 
She  was  n't  sarcastic.  She  was  perfectly  cool 
and  self-assured,  —  even  kind  in  a  desire  to  help 
him. 

Bill  was  a  little  shocked.  "Don't  you  care?" 
he  asked,  getting  up. 

She  heard  the  sea  calling  like  a  mother.  Born 
in  its  tumult  and  catastrophe  she  must  go  back  to  it 
for  peace.  "  Yes,  Bill,"  she  said. 

"  And  do  you  understand  ?  Do  you  see  the  thing 
that  I  've  got  to  do  ?  Marriage  and  children  and 
responsibility  and  all  that?" 

"  Yes,  Bill,"  she  said. 

He  went  up  to  her  and  put  his  hands  on  her  shoul- 
ders. She  was  so  quiet,  —  there  was  such  a  queer 
look  in  her  eyes.  ..."  What  are  you  thinking 
about?" 

"  You,"  she  said,  "  and  what  you  've  got  to  do. 
Good  luck,  Bill." 

'  You  '11  go  on  with  your  work  in  the  studio  and 
when  the  right  man  "  — 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  189 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It 's  good-by  to  the  right 
man." 

Emotion  surged  over  him.  This  water-babe  who 
had  given  him  the  love  of  a  wife.  .  .  .  Oh,  curse  it! 
How  sorry  he  was.  He  wished  to  God  that  he 
loved  her.  "Why  good-by?  Shan't  you  let  me 
see  you  sometimes?  " 

She  shook  her  head  again,  but  her  mask  fell  for 
a  second. 

On  the  thin  face,  that  was  as  white  as  foam,  he 
saw  that  queer  look  that  had  struck  fear  into  him 
before.  There  was  more  in  this  than  being  honest 
and  drawing  blood.  There  was  the  sea  in  her  eyes. 
If  he  didn't  work  on  every  shred  of  her  devotion 
his  Blue  Room  would  contain  a  slight  dead  figure 
washed  up  by  the  tide. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms.  "  Not  that,  Susie. 
You  would  n't  punish  me  all  the  rest  of  my  life  by 
doing  a  thing  like  that.  There  's  the  family  to  con- 
sider and  what  I  've  brought  out  of  the  War.  I 
wish  like  hell  I  'd  never  been  in  it  and  was  all  alone 
in  the  world.  It  would  all  be  easy  then.  But 
things  have  got  to  go  this  way  and  you  won't  be  the 
one  —  oh  Susie,  not  you  —  to  put  the  stain  of  your 
blood  on  my  soul." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  not  quite  the  same 
face  that  she  had  seen  from  the  sea,  and  saw  that 
his  lips  were  trembling  and  his  eyes  full  of  the  sort 
of  appeal  that  there  must  once  have  been  in  hers, 
that  time  when  she  had  begged  for  life  and  love  out 
on  the  yacht.  And  a  great  pity  came  —  he  wanted 


190  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

the  right  girl  —  she  was  n't  the  right  girl  —  and 
children,  and  she  stood  on  tiptoe,  flung  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

Itoto  slipped  in  to  lay  the  table,  —  and  they 
walked  over  to  the  window. 

"  What  you  gave  me  I  give  you,"  she  said. 
"  Life.  Make  the  most  of  it.  And  to  prove  that 
you  've  made  me  master  the  old  sea-feeling  I  '11  not 
listen  to  the  call.  I  '11  be  an  artist  instead  and  paint 
the  love  of  you  into  my  pictures.  You  may  trust  me." 

Poor  old  Bill.  He  did  n't  know  what  to  do  or 
say  to  thank  her.  He  was  n't  a  woman's  man.  But 
his  inarticulation  was  understood  by  Susie.  Ivy 
knows  the  oak  and  she  knew  Bill.  .  .  .  Would  any- 
one else  ever  know  him  so  well  ? 

IX 

ALBERY  was  taking  a  nap  on  the  veranda  when 
Bill  got  back  that  afternoon.  With  a  bandana 
handkerchief  over  his  face  to  keep  the  flies  away, 
the  pompous  person  who  had  made  a  vocation  of 
butlership  was  enjoying  what  he  considered  to  be 
a  very  honestly  earned  rest.  He  justified  his  use  of 
the  Commodore's  chair  on  the  part  of  the  veranda 
that  was  sacred  to  tea  by  the  fact  that  his  faithful- 
ness had  made  him  almost  a  member  of  the  family, 
—  or  at  any  rate  the  sort  of  member  who  came  into 
the  open  when  the  family  was  out.  His  feet,  with 
boots  laced  only  halfway  up,  and  pointing  east  and 
west,  had  been  placed  on  another  chair.  The  mas- 
sive recumbent  figure,  with  hands  clasped  upon  the 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  191 

central  mountain,  and  clad  in  garments  of  excessive 
excellence,  could  not  be  a  thing  of  beauty,  but  it  was, 
and  would  always  scrupulously  remain,  the  symbol 
of  service. 

But  Bill  wanted  to  know  something  and  wanted 
to  know  it  quickly.  All  the  way  home  he  had  put 
himself  up  as  the  champion  cad  of  the  world  and 
chucked  great  lumps  of  rock  at  his  body.  He  was 
feeling  both  bashed  and  impatient.  He  stamped 
about  like  a  fussy  man  shaking  snow  from  his  boots. 
A  long  and  luscious  snore  issued.  He  drew  a 
wicker  table  up  and  down  twice,  thereby  making  the 
sort  of  squeak  that  jerks  the  fillings  out  of  teeth. 
Nothing  happened.  There  was  obviously  only  one 
thing  left  to  do.  He  did  it.  A  resounding  bump, 
a  roar  of  oaths,  a  slow  but  dignified  rise.  .  .  . 
"  Good  afternoon,  sir." 

"Good  afternoon.     Where's  everybody?'* 

"  Madam  has  driven  over  to  the  nurseries,  sir, 
to  see  about  those  Japanese  maples." 

"Well?" 

"  John  is  driving  the  Commodore  and  Lord  Ed- 
ward in  the  opposite  direction,  sir,  to  take  a  look  at 
the  country." 

"  Not  Lord  Edward.  Major  Jedburgh.  He 
wishes  it." 

Albery's  eyebrows  rose  slightly  and  with  them 
went  his  shoulders  and  then  his  hands.  "  Very  good, 
sir.  But  can  the  Ethiopian  change  his  skin  or  the 
leopard  his  spots  ?  " 

"  What 's  to  stop  him? "  said  Bill,    "  It 's  a  free 


192  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

country.  .  .  Where  's  Marth  —  I  mean  Miss  Wain 
—  oh,  it  does  n't  matter."  The  screen  door  came 
back  with  a  whang  behind  him  and  he  stamped  up- 
stairs to  his  rooms.  It 's  curious  how  a  man  feels 
impelled  to  make  a  tremendous  noise  after  under- 
going a  bout  of  mental  humiliation.  Reaction 
brings  with  it,  probably,  a  sort  of  "  Now  then,  who 
the  devil  says  that  I  'm  taking  this  lying  down. 
Hear  me  about  unless  you  're  deaf,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  H'm,"  said  Albery  to  himself,  as  he  replaced 
the  furniture  with  minute  accuracy,  "  Bill 's  bumped 
up  against  a  bit  of  the  past  to-day,  that 's  certain. 
Don't  I  know  the  feeling?  "  A  little  smile  fluttered 
over  his  face. 

Bill  got  out  of  his  clothes  and  stood  under  a  cold 
shower  until  every  suggestion  of  the  City  was 
washed  away.  Then  he  dried  his  hair  to  re-wet  it 
with  a  stinging  hair-juice,  and  got  into  a  pair  of 
loose  knickerbockers,  a  soft  shirt  with  a  small  low 
collar,  an  easy  coat  and  shoes  a  size  too  large.  His 
mind  could  become  even  more  hopelessly  disorgan- 
ized if  his  body  were  completely  comfortable.  .  .  . 
Susie  loved  him.  Martha  did  n't.  He  did  n't  love 
Susie  and  he  did  love  Martha.  He  was  wretched, 
he  'd  had  to  make  Susie  wretched  and  if  he  could 
make  Martha  wretched  that  would  be  fine,  —  that 
is, — oh  curse.  .  .  .  And  having  made  Susie  desper- 
ately unhappy  and  dashed  her  hopes  and  put  bad 
thoughts  into  her  mind,  to  say  nothing  of  having 
made  himself  an  infernal  cad  by  his  clumsy  way  of 
breaking  things  up  and  hinting  at  class  differences 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  193 

and  that  stuff,  —  if  he  had  loved  her  would  that 
have  mattered?  —  What  he  asked  himself  now  was 
"  Is  it  worth  it  ?  Is  n't  this  reconstruction  business 
nothing  but  a  dream?  Can  the  Ethiopian  change 
his  skin  or  the  leopard  his  spots  ?  They  're  not  wild 
oats  that  I  planted.  They  're  mustard  seed.  Cut 
'em  down,  burn  'em  out  and  up  they  come  again. 
Susie  is  just  as  much  mine  now  as  ever  she  was.  I 
took  her  and  she 's  permanent.  No  Blue  Room 
can  shut  her  in.  She  's  alive  and  about  and  will 
have  to  be  watched.  No  one  could  keep  her  word 
better,  but  will  painting  do  the  trick?  .  .  .  Martha 
laughs.  That 's  over.  I  cling  to  this  pathetic  idea 
of  beginning  again  and  playing  up  to  mother  and 
the  old  Dad  and  the  traditions  and  start  on  the 
hunt  for  Miss  Respectable.  If  I  find  her,  or 
Mother  produces  her,  and  she  's  fool  enough  to  take 
me  on  there  's  Martha  stuck  in  my  heart.  ...  It 's 
no  good.  I  must  chuck  it.  The  whole  damned 
thing  is  n't  honest.  I  can't  reconstruct.  I  've  missed 
the  chance  of  playing  the  game.  Bill  just  can't  be 
a  good  boy  now  and  that 's  all  there  is  to  it." 

But  when  he  wandered  out  and  kicked  himself 
from  one  lonely  place  to  another,  more  depressed 
than  ever  because  there  was  n't  a  soul  to  make  as 
wretched  as  he  was,  he  thought  suddenly  of  the 
bench  beneath  the  Seven  Sisters  which  was  Martha's 
favorite  place,  perked  up  at  once  and  went  off  in 
long  strides  to  see  what  he  could  do  in  that  direction. 
She  might  laugh  at  him,  and  she  was  perfectly  justi- 
fied. But  perhaps  there  was  something  that  he 


194  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

could  say,  with  any  luck,  to  give  his  depression  to 
her. 

Yes,  there  was  Martha.  The  primrose,  as  Teddy 
called  her.  He  was  good  at  exact  descriptions. 
But  she  was  n't  sitting  on  the  bench  as  he  had  seen 
her  so  often,  apparently  waiting  for  something,  as  it 
had  vaguely  seemed  to  him.  She  was  standing  clear 
cut  against  the  sky  on  the  edge  of  the  hill,  straight, 
slight  and  gloriously  young,  without  a  hat,  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her  back.  She  might  have  been 
throwing  out  a  speech  to  the  listening  valley  with 
words  of  scorn  and  impatience  about  Life.  It  was 
not  a  bit  of  good  to  her  and  she  didn't  care  who 
knew  it. 

She  heard  him  coming  but  made  no  move.  Her 
heart  jumped.  That  was  all.  He  left  the  shade 
of  the  Seven  Sisters  and  went  out  into  the  sun  by 
her  side.  There  they  stood,  with  the  world  at  their 
feet,  silently. 

She  had  been  thinking  too,  and  was  angry.  Why 
was  he  hanging  about  the  garden  and  the  hill  and 
fastening  himself  on  her,  when  all  the  while  his 
thoughts  were  far  afield,  searching.  Pride  did  n't 
permit  any  more  of  this  humiliation.  It  must  be 
brought  to  an  end.  "  Well,"  she  said,  looking  out 
at  the  procession  of  hills  away  in  the  distance. 
"  Have  you  been  to  town  to  find  a  girl,  —  the  girl  ?  " 

"  I  don't  have  to  go  to  town  to  do  that,"  he  said 
sharply.  A  nice  lookout  when  she  began  to  rot 
him  right  away. 

She  turned,  as  cool  as  a  fish,  and  ran  her  eyes  over 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  195 

him.  Good  Lord,  how  she  reminded  him  of  Susie 
Hatch  by  the  angle  of  her  chin.  "  Is  that  so  ?  It 's 
none  of  my  business,  but  you  can't  be  said  to  show 
much  keenness  to  see  her,  can  you,  —  never  leaving 
this  place?  " 

He  hurled  the  ball  back.  "  Why  should  I  leave 
this  place?  She  doesn't." 

The  lurking  smile  went  out  of  her  eyes.  What 
did  he  mean?  There  was  no  girl,  no  other 
girl.  .  .  .  And  then  all  the  fog  that  had  come  be- 
tween them  lifted  and  in  the  golden  clearness  of 
that  afternoon  she  saw  the  man  she  loved  and  hun- 
gered for  in  all  his  humbleness  and  lack  of  courage. 
The  air  was  rilled  with  the  rustling  of  wings  and 
over  the  sinking  sun  the  star  came  forth.  ...  It 
was  for  her  to  make  him  speak,  and  the  woman  in 
her  reveled  in  the  chance.  He  should  pay  a  little 
for  all  her  hours  of  anguish. 

"  Perhaps  she  only  comes  out  at  night,  like  the 
moon  ?  " 

"  Don't  let 's  talk  about  it,"  he  said.  "  It  won't 
do  any  good." 

He  was  n't  to  be  allowed  to  get  away  like  that. 
"  But  you  mystify  me,"  she  said.  "  Only  yesterday 
you  asked  who  was  to  take  you  seriously  and  talked 
about  the  difficulty  of  finding  the  girl.  And  now 
you  say  she  's  here.  What  exactly  do  you  mean?  " 

Instead  of  infecting  her  with  his  depression  he 
had  made  her  gay,  it  seemed.  Something  had  set 
her  alight.  She  looked  taller  and  behind  the  laugh 
in  her  eyes  there  were  burning  fires.  He  had  never 


196  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

seen  her  look  like  that  or  felt  so  strongly  the  vitality 
of  her  youth. 

All  right.  He  would  tell  her  and  the  thing  would 
be  ended.  His  fatuous  scheme  of  reconstruction 
would  fall  like  an  empty  shell.  "  I  mean  what  I 
say,"  he  said,  smarting  under  her  levity.  "  She  is 
here.  She  was  here  when  I  went  away.  She  was 
here  when  I  came  back.  I  loved  her  when  she  came 
up  to  this  hill.  I  've  loved  her  more  and  more  ever 
since.  But  she  does  n't  give  a  single  curse  about  me 
and  that  ends  it.  I  wanted  to  settle  down  and  plant 
roots  and  take  a  wife  but  as  she  won't  have  me  I  'm 
homeless  and  the  thing  's  a  dream."  He  turned 
away  like  a  boy. 

And  she  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  turned  him 
back.  "  How  do  you  know  it 's  a  dream  ?  How 
do  you  know  she  does  n't  give  a  single  curse  if 
you  have  n't  spoken  to  her  ?  " 

He  stared  in  amazement. 

And  she  threw  out  her  arms  with  her  face  held 
up.  He  loved  her  as  she  insisted  on  being  loved. 
Pride  was  n't  in  this.  "  Speak,  speak,"  she  cried 
out,  stamping  her  foot.  "  Why  waste  this  precious 
time?" 

One  more  blundering  pause,  —  and  then  the  cry, 
and  the  meeting  of  lips,  and  the  welding  of 
hearts.  .  .  . 

Honesty?  The  hidden  key  of  the  Blue  Room? 
Bosh!  She  loved  him.  She  loved  him.  What 
had  happened  till  then  was  his.  What  was  to  hap- 
pen from  that  hour  onward  was  hers,  —  everything. 


PART  V 


AT  ten  o'clock  that  night  Bill  Mortimer  stalked 
into  the  drawing-room  of  the  old  house. 

To  the  white-haired  lady,  the  Old  Rip  and  the 
British  Major  who  had  been  waiting  for  him  without 
impatience,  he  looked  rather  like  a  sheepish  boy. 
He  was  still  wearing  the  clothes  into  which  he  had 
changed  that  afternoon.  His  dark  crisp  hair 
seemed  still  to  have  in  it  the  breeze  of  a  three  hours' 
exultant  drive  in  an  open  car.  His  eyes  were 
sparkling,  and  round  his  mouth  there  was  the  smile 
that  is  only  to  be  found  on  the  face  of  a  mere  lad 
who  has  just  kissed  his  first  sweetheart. 

In  no  mood  for  anything  so  prosaic  as  to  sit  down 
to  dinner  he  had  almost  taken  a  flying  header  from 
the  hill  of  the  Seven  Sisters  as  soon  as  Martha  had 
torn  herself  away;  left  a  message  with  Albery  that 
he  would  be  back  before  ten  and  driven  himself 
about  the  surrounding  country  with  a  total  and 
reckless  disregard  for  speed  limits,  —  going  almost 
indeed  as  fast  as  his  thoughts.  Only  by  the  luck 
of  lovers  and  drunkards  had  he  escaped  arrest  and 


198  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

accident.  And  now,  here  he  was,  with  his  head  in 
the  clouds  and  his  feet  nowhere  near  the  earth,  to 
break  the  momentous  news  to  his  family  of  his 
engagement  to  Martha. 

The  whole  fun  of  the  thing  lay  in  the  fact  that, 
unknown  to  the  ecstatic  Bill,  the  family  and  Teddy 
Jedburgh  knew  precisely  what  he  had  come  to  tell 
them.  It  had  happened  that  Mrs.  Mortimer,  on  her 
return  from  the  Nurseries,  had  climbed  the  hill  and 
seen  Martha  in  Bill's  arms,  making  a  picture  up  there 
against  the  sunset  which  had  filled  her  with  inde- 
scribable joy.  She  had  crept  away,  performed  a 
feat  of  self-restraint  unique  in  the  history  of 
women  by  bottling  up  her  news  until  dinner  was 
over  and  then  sprung  it  upon  the  Commodore  and 
Bill's  pal  in  the  seclusion  of  the  drawing-room.  It 
must  have  been  a  sight  to  see  the  effect  of  it  on  the 
Old  Rip.  Regardless  of  corsets  and  forgetful  of 
gout  the  ancient  but  elegant  roysterer  had  sprung 
to  his  feet  and  executed  a  delirious  pas-seul  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  He  had  danced  until  his 
breath  had  given  out.  He  had  then  skidded  on  one 
of  the  rugs  and,  before  he  could  be  caught  by  Jed- 
burgh,  had  measured  his  length  on  the  floor  with 
the  latter  half  of  his  body  well  under  a  china  cabinet. 
It  was  one  of  those  horribly  comic  incidents  which 
draw  a  scream  of  laughter  but  leave  a  sense  of 
consternation.  Finally,  peace  restored,  and  the  re- 
covery assisted  by  a  nip  of  rare  old  brandy,  the  two 
excited  conspirators  had  taken  Jedburgh  into  their 
confidence  and  had  laid  all  the  details  of  their  little 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  199 

plot  bare  before  him.  He  had  listened  to  the  story 
of  their  one  remaining  ambition  with  mixed  feel- 
ings, because  Martha  was  the  only  girl  who  had 
done  strange  things  to  his  heart.  Homeless  him- 
self, but  with  the  home  feeling  strong  upon  him,  his 
sympathies  were  all  with  the  old  people  and  Bill, 
who  had  achieved,  as  usual,  whatever  luck  was 
going.  In  his  characteristically  generous  and  loyal 
way  he  rejoiced  in  Bill's  success  and  refused  to  al- 
low himself  to  look  through  the  narrow  window  in 
his  high  wall  at  a  long  vista  of  lonely  years. 

Mrs.  Mortimer,  so  happy  that  the  abominable 
ravages  of  time  had  faded  temporarily  from  her 
face,  had  taken  charge.  "  Now,  Barclay,"  she  had 
said,  "  keep  up  the  good  work,  my  dear.  I  am 
proud  of  the  masterly  way  in  which  you  have  stood 
aloof  all  this  month.  When  Bill  comes  in  continue  to 
know  nothing.  Let  him  go  on  believing  that  Martha 
is  his  own  discovery  and  that  we  have  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  this  matrimonial  scheme.  Do  every- 
thing you  can  to  preserve  the  bloom  of  this  romance 
of  his,  which  means  so  much  to  the  poor  old  boy. 
We  will  all  profess  the  surprise  and  delight  that  he 
will  expect  us  to  show,  although  not,  perhaps,  to  the 
extent  of  indulging  in  another  imitation  of  Nejin- 
sky.  That 's  a  little  too  expensive." 

"  You  're  right,  my  love,"  the  Commodore  had 
replied,  laying  a  rueful  hand  on  the  small  of  his 
back.  !(  You  shall  see  me  act  instead.  I  will  give 
you  a  dash  of  Guitry,  Hawtrey,  and  Henry  Miller. 
I  never  conceived  the  possibility  of  Bill's  taking 


200  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

himself  so  seriously.  It 's  exactly  what  we 
want,  of  course,  but  is  it  war,  middle  thirties,  or 
what?" 

"All  three,  and  a  combination  of  several  other  re- 
actions, and  all  of  them  have  played  into  our  hands. 
By  the  grace  of  propinquity  we  may  now  be  able  to 
listen  to  the  lusty  cries  of  a  grandchild  before  we 
make  room  for  the  next  occupants." 

"  By  the  grace  of  God,"  the  Old  Rip  had  corrected, 
with  that  extreme  of  reverence  that  goes  with  men 
who  take  to  kneeling  only  when  it  does  n't  matter 
how  much  their  trousers  bag. 

Bill  caught  the  three  pairs  of  deliberately  incuri- 
ous eyes,  gave  his  inevitable  grin  and  took  his  place 
with  his  back  to  the  empty  fire  grate.  All  about 
him  still  were  the  thrill  and  passion  and  surprise  and 
wonder  of  the  moment  when  he  had  looked  down 
into  the  face  of  that  young  sweet  thing  and  found 
her  eyes  so  dark  with  the  depth  of  her  love  that 
he  had  faltered  and  stood  humble.  He  had  caught 
her  as  she  had  almost  fainted  with  emotion  and 
kissed  the  color  into  her  cheeks  and  held  her  tight 
so  that  the  fire  of  his  blood  should  warm  her  back  to 
life.  The  scent  of  her  hair  clung  to  him  and  her 
little  cry  still  rang  in  his  ears.  He  did  n't  try  to 
speak  lightly  because  he  knew  that  what  he  had  come 
to  say  meant  almost  as  much  to  the  old  people  as  it 
meant  to  himself. 

"  I  'm  sorry  I  could  n't  join  you  at  dinner,"  he 
began. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear  fellow,  not  at  all,"  said  the 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  201 

Commodore,  catching  a  yawn.  That  was  his  Haw- 
trey  touch. 

"  We  missed  you,  Bill  darling,"  said  the  white- 
haired  lady. 

"  But  it  gave  me.  the  opportunity  of  blowing  a 
trumpet  about  your  soldiering,"  put  in  Jedburgh. 

There  would  have  been  a  short  silence  but  for  the 
raucous  chorus  of  near-by  frogs. 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Bill,  "  that 
will  amaze  you  all." 

"  You  don't  say  so,"  said  the  Commodore,  lean- 
ing forward  with  his  hands  on  his  knees  in  the 
Guitry  manner. 

Mrs.  Mortimer  steadied  her  voice.  "  My  dear 
Bill,  what  can  it  be  ?  " 

"  Break  it  to  us,  old  thing,"  chimed  in  Jedburgh, 
playing  up. 

"  Martha  and  I  are  engaged  to  be  married,"  said 
Bill,  coming  to  it  full  tilt. 

There  was  a  beautiful  pause,  —  the  tjiree  listeners 
acting  the  amazement  which  Bill  was  so  keen  to 
achieve  with  a  quite  professional  sense  of  drama. 
With  a  huge  effort  the  Old  Rip  held  himself  in  to 
allow  his  wife  the  first  expression  of  congratulation. 
He  knew  women  and  was  a  gallant  fellow.  Drop- 
ping her  camouflage  the  mother  rose,  fluttered 
across  the  room  to  her  big  foolish  boy,  put  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  kissed  him.  The  month's  sus- 
pense and  anxiety  and  impatience  had  culminated 
in  success.  It  was  a  great  moment.  Unable  to 
trust  himself  to  speak  Barclay  Mortimer  grasped 


202  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

his  son's  hands,  and  turned  to  his  wife.  For  once 
he  was  unable  to  translate  himself  into  a  little 
flowery  speech,  but  in  the  deep  bow  that  he  gave 
her  all  his  thanks  and  admiration  were  laid  at  her 
feet. 

Finally  Jedburgh  went  forward.  "  I  'm  very 
glad,  old  son,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  hope  you  will 
both  know  nothing  but  happiness." 

Martha,  the  primrose,  the  incarnation  of  his 
dreams.  .  .  . 

II 

ONCE  more,  these  two  men  who  had  come  out  of 
the  shambles  of  death  to  make  the  most  of  the  life 
which  they  had  been  permitted  to  retain,  the  one 
eager  to  go  straight,  the  other  unable  to  go  crooked, 
sat  late. 

The  irony  of  the  fact  that  Bill  loved  and  was 
loved  by  the  girl  who  alone  could  have  given  Jed- 
burgh  the  home  that  he  pined  for  was  not  brought 
out.  All  that  was  an  accident,  a  trick,  one  of  those 
damnable  tangents  which  Fate  delights  in  turning 
life  into  from  time  to  time,  just  apparently  to  make 
things  more  difficult.  Or,  perhaps,  in  order  to  test 
character  by  offering  temptation  and  to  strengthen 
the  spirit  by  giving  pain.  Who  can  say?  It  was  n't 
for  Jedburgh  to  drag  in  himself  and  his  feelings. 
In  any  case  Martha  was  in  a  preserve  into  which  he 
had  no  right  to  trespass.  So  he  put  the  primrose 
into  his  heart  and  locked  her  in. 

"  If  you  were  the  ordinary  cove,"  said  Bill,  re- 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  203 

loading  his  pipe,  "  you  'd  have  a  fit  at  all  this  emo- 
tion-stuff." 

"  Why,  my  dear  old  thing?  " 

They  were  in  the  morning  room  now.  It  was 
smaller  and  less  formal  than  the  drawing-room,  more 
in  the  nature  of  a  den.  Few  men  can  get  down  to 
things  and  find  anything  comfortable  to  sit  on  in  a 
drawing-room.  To  smoke  a  pipe  in  such  a  place, 
even  if  it  consents  to  draw  there,  is  as  bad  as  laugh- 
ing in  church. 

"  Why,  it  probably  would  seem  that  we  were 
making  much  ado  about  very  little.  A  man  gets 
engaged  to  a  girl,  —  it 's  done  every  minute  of  the 
day.  It's  one  of  the  popular  pastimes,  and  either 
leads  to  a  light-hearted  marriage  that  can  be  broken 
at  will  or  goes  no  further  than  a  few  kisses,  a  few 
,  presents  and  a  fairly  quick  awakening.  And  in  any 
case  I  suppose  lots  of  people  would  burst  into 
hoarse  laughter  at  the  sight  of  a  house  of  three 
worldlings  elevating  love  to  a  position  of  supreme 
importance  at  a  moment  when  the  whole  earth  is 
going  from  bad  to  worse  under  the  misdirection  of 
the  same  damn  fool  politicians  whose  impotence 
brought  about  the  war." 

"Yes,  but  for  all  the  laughter  of  jackasses  love 
is  a  matter  of  supreme  importance  whatever  may  be 
the  state  of  the  world.  The  poor  old  world  would 
very  quickly  become  normal  if  that  point  were  gen- 
erally realized.  The  one  great  philosopher  taught 
us  the  simple  truth  pretty  well  at  the  beginning  of 
things  and  died  on  the  cross  to  prove  it.  Don't  be- 


204  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

come  self -analytical,  Bill.  Thank  your  stars  that 
everything  is  going  well,  see  that  it  continues  to  go 
well  and  let  the  hoarse  laughter  of  cynics  blow  away 
like  smoke." 

Bill  got  up  and  began  to  walk  about.  "  I  can't 
help  being  self-conscious  about  all  this,"  he  said, 
with  a  deep  line  of  worry  on  his  forehead,  "  because 
I  want  things  to  continue  to  go  well  so  frightfully 
much.  It 's  true  that  Martha  loves  me,  —  a  thing 
it 's  pretty  hard  to  realize.  But  what  are  her  people 
going  to  say  ?  I  've  got  to  march  into  the  Wain- 
wrights'  house  and  get  the  once-over  from  a  couple 
of  anxious  parents,  Teddy.  There  I  shall  stand, 
quaking  like  a  criminal,  trying  to  look  ten  years 
younger  than  I  am  and  putting  on  the  air  of  some- 
one just  out  of  the  egg.  Wainwright  will  have  a 
perfect  right  to  put  me  through  the  third  degree. 
If  he  's  anything  like  the  father  he  's  made  out  to  be 
he  probably  will.  That  means  that  I  shall  have  to 
dodge  his  questions  and  go  forward  through  a 
jungle  of  lies  or  own  up  and  either  get  told  off  or 
marry  Martha  against  the  wishes  of  her  parents. 
See  that?  It's  natural  enough  for  my  people  to 
pooh-pooh  all  this,  and  even  to  contend  that  the 
modern  girl  is  inclined  to  think  all  the  more  of  a 
man  who  has  knocked  about.  Their  one  remaining 
ambition  is  to  secure  the  future  of  the  family  at  any 
cost.  I  believe  that,  if  things  go  through,  I  can 
make  Martha  so  happy  in  the  present  that  she  won't 
want  to  go  foraging  into  the  past.  All  the  same, 
there  is  a  new  and  upsetting  germ  of  honesty  in  the 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  205 

back  of  my  brain  that  persists  in  telling  me  that  I 
am  taking  advantage  of  Martha's  love  and  putting 
her  to  a  very  obvious  sacrifice.  I  'm  a  battered 
thirty-four  and  she  's  a  perfectly  spotless  nineteen. 
She  has  nothing  to  remember  or  regret  and  I  have 
a  cursed  Blue  Room  full  of  memories,  and  the  out- 
standing point  is  that  she  is  not  the  average  sophisti- 
cated unserious  girl  of  whom  my  mother  speaks. 
In  a  sort  of  way  she's  a  freak,  as  girls  go  to-day. 
She's  been  brought  up  off  the  map  among  exactly 
the  same  traditions  that  have  made  you  what  you 
are.  That 's  great,  and  I  'm  thankful  for  it.  I 
don't  look  at  marriage  with  the  eyes  of  a  bachelor. 
My  wife  has  to  be  unlike  any  girl  I  Ve  ever  met, 
Miss  Respectable  in  fact.  But  is  that  fair?  " 

He  came  to  a  halt  in  front  of  the  sofa  upon  which 
Jedburgh  had  made  himself  comfortable.  He  had 
jerked  out  all  these  sentences  on  his  to-and-fro  prowl. 
And  now  he  came  to  the  big  point,  the  sum  total  of 
the  thing  that  had  put  that  deep  line  on  his  forehead. 

"  Shall  I  play  the  game  according  to  Hoyle  or 
not?  Shall  I  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  Martha 
and  run  the  risk  of  smashing  her  illusions  —  or  let 
things  go  ?  That 's  what  I  want  you  to  tell  me, 
Teddy.  Yesterday  you  advised  me, to  board  up  my 
old  Blue  Room  and  said  that  it  had  been  done  be- 
fore. I  know  it  has.  But  I  want  you,  knowing 
everything  from  our  point  of  view,  to  take  the 
Wainwright  side.  You  're  the  only  man  whose 
final  judgment  is  any  good  to  me." 

This  was  a  mighty  large  order.  .  .  .  There  was 


206  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

no  man  alive  whom  Jedburgh  liked  more  than  Bill 
Mortimer.  He  knew  him  for  a  first-rate  sportsman 
and  one  who  had  taken  into  his  war  service  a  consis- 
tent cheeriness  and  an  utter  disregard  for  self  that 
had  acted  like  magic  on  his  regiment.  He  had 
found  him  out  to  be  a  kind-hearted,  generous, 
simple-minded,  homogeneous  fellow,  with  all  the 
normal  weaknesses  of  sound  and  healthy  men  and 
one  or  two  facets  to  his  character,  such  as  sentiment 
and  a  longing  for  children  which,  if  properly  de- 
veloped, would  put  him  up  several  pegs.  He  had 
seen  him  under  the  influence  of  what  he  had  called 
the  prodigal  son's  longing  to  indulge  in  an  orgy  of 
reconstruction,  to  build  a  church  out  of  the  ruins 
of  his  past.  And  he  was  in  deep  sympathy  with  all 
that.  But  he  was  now  asked  to  sit  in  judgment  of 
a  case  which  affected  the  whole  future  happiness  of 
a  girl  whose  love  he  would  have  given  some  years 
of  "his  life  to  have  won,  —  a  girl  who  had  earned 
the  right  to  be  taken  into  marriage  by  a  younger 
man  with  no  Blue  Room  in  his  house,  and  he  could 
only  do  so  by  totally  eliminating  himself,  which  was 
not  easy.  But  he  would  do  his  best  and  give  Bill 
the  advice  that  he  needed  from  the  ordinary  sane 
point  of  view. 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  will  achieve  anything  by 
making  a  clean  breast  of  it,  except  to  hurt  Martha," 
he  said.  "  She  loves  you  and  will  marry  you  in 
spite  of  everything.  Much  better  let  the  dead  past 
bury  its  dead  and  leave  your  romance  undamaged. 
You  will  pay  your  bill  in  regrets.  Why  ask  her  to 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  207 

share  in  the  payment?  Let  her  off,  my  dear  chap, 
and. see  to  it  that  you  devote  the  life  that  you  make 
over  to  her  entirely  to  her  happiness.  You  can't 
do  more  than  that.  Cease  feeling  your  own  pulse 
and  go  ahead  healthily.  Your  new  leaf  is  clean  and 
full  of  promise.  That  seems  to  me  the  normal  way 
to  look  at  it." 

Bill  heaved  a  big  sigh  of  relief  and  sat  down. 
The  worried  line  faded  away.  He  had  asked  for 
advice  and  received  the  only  kind  that  he  recognized 
instantly  as  good  because  it  was  precisely  what  he 
desired  to  have.  He  had  not  been  wrong  in  bank- 
ing on  Jedburgh's  wisdom  and  friendship. 

"  Thanks,  Teddy,"  he  said.  "  And  now  things 
shall  begin  to  move.  I  am  going  to  wangle  things 
so  that  the  marriage  shall  take  place  within  a  month. 
You  '11  be  my  best  man,  of  course?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Jedburgh,  without  the  flicker  of 
an  eyelid. 

Ill 

THINGS  began  to  move  the  following  evening, 
which  was  Saturday. 

Bill  escorted  his  mother  into  the  drawing  room 
after  dinner,  made  her  comfortable  on  her  favorite 
sofa,  waited  until  the  old  man  had  settled  down  to 
listen  to  one  of  Jedburgh's  outbursts  on  the  piano, 
and  then  bent  over  the  white-haired  lady. 

"So  long,  Mum,"  he  said.  "If  you'll  excuse 
me  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  leave  you  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening." 


208  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

Mrs.  Mortimer  smiled  and  put  his  hand  against 
her  cheek. 

"  No,  nothing  so  good  as  that,"  he  said,  catch- 
ing in  her  eyes  a  picture  of  the  hill  and  of  Martha 
with  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"What  then?"  she  asked. 

"  Nothing  can  go  at  my  pace  until  I  've  asked  the 
father's  permission  to  marry  his  daughter  in  the 
good  old  way.  So  I  'm  off  to  the  house  to  get  it 
over."  He  made  a  most  rueful  face. 

This  time  Mrs.  Mortimer  laughed.  How  like  a 
boy  Bill  looked,  standing  there  in  a  blue  funk.  She 
did  n't  see  anything  to  be  nervous  about.  Was 
there  a  father  on  earth  who  would  n't  jump  at  her 
son  as  a  husband  for  his  daughter  ?  She  would  like 
to  see  such  a  man.  "  I  had  forgotten  all  about  that 
ceremony,"  she  said. 

"  I  know.  But  I  took  the  idea  of  it  to  bed  last 
night  and  have  been  worrying  out  the  proper  speech 
the  whole  blessed  day.  Everything  I  Ve  rehearsed 
will  fly  out  of  the  top  of  my  head  the  minute  I  stand 
on  the  mat,  though.  Whoo,  but  I  've  got  the  needle. 
However,  I  called  up  Tom  Wainwright  this  morn- 
ing and  put  him  wise.  He  's  been  playing  golf  with 
his  father  all  the  afternoon  and  swore  that  he  'd 
boost  me  a  bit,  —  of  course  not  saying  a  word  about 
the  engagement.  It  may  make  things  a  bit  easier, 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

The  white-haired  lady  put  her  lips  to  the  hand 
that  had  clutched  her  ringer  in  the  days  when  she 
was  not  much  older  than  Martha,  the  memories  of 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  209 

which  had  come  back  to  her  very  strongly  and 
sweetly  during  the  last  month.  It  was  nothing  new 
to  play  second  fiddle  to  another  woman.  Bill  had 
replaced  her  very  early  in  his  career.  But  some- 
how, at  that  moment,  after  having  enjoyed  his 
affection  and  dependence  for  a  whole  month,  she 
could  n't  help  feeling  jealous  of  this  girl  who  had 
brought  him  to  his  knees,  unreasonable  as  it  was. 
The  whole  scheme  had  been  hers,  —  the  necessary 
step  to  the  fulfillment  of  her  last  desire.  "  Poor  old 
mother,"  she  whispered,  turning  a  sob  into  one  of 
her  soft  laughs. 

Bill  did  n't  understand.  He  thought  that  age 
was  being  resented,  and  as  this  was  one  of  his  own 
grievances  he  bent  down  again  and  left  on  the 
withered  cheek  a  kiss  that  was  very  full  of  sym- 
pathy. And  the  poor  old  mother  interpreted  this  in 
the  way  it  read  best  to  her  and  was  humbly  grateful. 
The  rewards  of  motherhood  are  like  the  rewards  of 
fighting  men,  —  afterthoughts  conferred  reluctantly. 

The  Old  Rip,  looking  startlingly  young  in  the 
Cathedral  light  at  the  piano  end  of  the  drawing- 
room,  was  absorbed  in  Jedburgh's  improvising.  He 
had  got  up  and  was  leaning  on  the  instrument,  a 
graceful  if  somewhat  too  waisted  figure.  The  false 
brown  of  his  hair  and  mustache  appeared  to  be  less 
dead  at  that  distance  and  his  skin  less  meticulously 
tightened  up  by  astringents  and  the  energy  of  Den- 
ham's  fingers.  So  Bill  went  out  without  disturbing 
him.  "  Good  God,"  he  thought,  passing  through 
the  scented  garden,  "  shall  I  have  to  make  myself 


210  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

look  like  that  at  his  age?  Martha,  the  old  man's 
darling!  .  .  ." 

However,  as  Teddy  Jedburgh  had  advised,  he  was 
not  going  to  feel  his  own  pulse  or  go  forward  with 
his  eyes  turned  over  his  shoulder,  in  the  manner  of 
Lot's  wife.  He  was  determined  to  go  straight 
ahead,  with  a  rush,  carrying  Martha  with  him.  The 
new  leaf  was  clean  and  full  of  promise.  It  was  his 
business  to  see  that  good  things  only  were  printed 
upon  it.  He  ran  across  the  frontier  of  the  two 
places,  the  irresistible  Bill  Mortimer  grin  on  his 
good-looking  face,  his  teeth  gleaming  under  his 
small  mustache.  Thirty- four?  What  of  it!  He 
was  utterly  young,  absurdly  young,  and  sound  in 
wind  and  limb.  He  felt  like  a  first-year  undergrad- 
uate keeping  tryst  with  his  best  girl.  But  he 
slowed  down  and  felt  the  needle  again,  sewing  him 
through  the  solar  plexus,  when  he  came  into  the 
lights  of  the  Wainwright  house. 

And  he  drew  up  for  a  moment,  not  quite  sure 
that  he  would  n't  bolt  back  and  send  a  letter  instead. 
The  house  struck  him  as  being  disturbingly  Wain- 
wrightian,  forthright  and  upstanding,  new  and  with- 
out anything  to  hide.  Its  architect  was  an  old 
friend  of  Wainwright's.  He  had  consciously  de- 
signed it  to  fit  the  character  of  its  owner.  It  had 
no  frills.  He  had  worked  in  no  period  stuff,  given 
it  no  broken  roof  line  or  rounded  corners ;  indulged 
in  no  narrow  and  suspicious  front  door  with  a  queer 
knocker ;  no  slit  windows  with  bottle  glass.  He  had 
set  it  down,  in  a  wide  bare  space,  frank  and  uncom- 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  211 

promising,  square,  large,  and  defying  criticism,  its 
wide  bald  front  door  led  up  to  by  wide  bald  steps. 
It  was  essentially  a  house  rather  than  merely  a  home, 
the  house  of  a  man  who  had  no  broken  roof  lines  or 
rounded  corners  in  his  life,  who  had  nothing  to  hide 
behind  period  stuff  and  bottle  glass  windows.  .  .  . 
A  victrola  was  at  work.  The  tune  of  a  lilting  fox- 
trot came  through  one  of  the  open  windows.  The 
click  of  billiard  balls  came  too.  ..."  Now  then, 
Bill,  you  blighter.  No  jibbing.  Take  the  jump 
with  a  bit  over."  He  hunted  for  the  bell,  a  thing  all 
architects  take  a  mischievous  delight  in  hiding  in 
the  most  unlikely  place.  And  it  seemed  to  ring  and 
reverberate  through  the  world.  None  too  quickly 
the  door  was  opened  by  a  resentful  girl  brought 
away  from  a  game  of  "  Old  Maid  "  with  the  gro- 
cer's delivery  man.  Martha  halted  on  the  stairs, 
with  her  heart  in  her  mouth.  .  .  .  He  had  come  to 
ask  father,  and  mother  was  in  the  billiard  room  — 
and  they  were  both  stiff-backed  about  the  Morti- 
mers! 

Bill  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  but  before 
he  could  give  himself  another  mental  jerk  lips  were 
on  his  lips  and  arms  clasped  tightly  round  his  neck 
and  a  little  heart  thumping  against  his  chest.  "  Oh 
Bill,  you  darling !  " 

"  I  've  come  to  do  it,"  he  said. 

She  caught  something  of  his  nervousness. 
"You're  not  afraid?" 

He  put  his  mouth  to  her  ear.  "Babe,  I'm  in 
the  bluest  funk  of  my  life." 


212  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

And  they  stood,  close  together,  like  the  children 
in  the  wood,  seeing  vague  shapes  of  trouble,  until 
Martha  caught  the  comic  side  of  it  all  and  threw 
back  her  head  and  laughed.  Major  Bill  Mortimer, 
hero,  knight,  lover,  come  to  ask  for  the  Wain w  right 
kid  and  afraid !  It  was  too  funny  for  words. 

Then  Tom  dashed  in  and  found  Bill  examining 
the  contents  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly  and  Martha 
putting  a  photograph  straight  on  an  octagonal  table. 

"  Oh  hello,  Major,"  he  cried  out,  his  round  face 
shining.  "  This  is  the  best  thing  that  ever  hap- 
pened. Come  along  to  the  billiard  room  and 
meet  .  .  ." 

"Right,"  said  Bill.  "Wait  a  second.  Er  .  .  . 
did  you  manage  .  .  ." 

"  You  bet  I  did.  It 's  easy.  It 's  a  walk-over. 
Come  on."  And  as  Martha  led  the  way,  with  her 
eyes  like  stars,  her  lips  a  little  apart  and  her  young 
breast  rising  and  falling,  Tom  clutched  at  her  hand 
and  gave  her  an  emotional  wink.  If  he  had  been 
given  the  choice  of  every  man  alive  as  the  one  to 
take  his  sister  he  would  have  plumped  for  good  old 
Bill.  Didn't  he  know  him  backwards . under  con- 
ditions that  find  out  the  sort  of  stuff  a  man  is  made 
of? 

Down  for  the  first  time  for  some  weeks,  Mrs. 
Wainwright  sat  with  a  rug  over  her  knees  and  a 
shawl  round  her  shoulders.  She  might  have  been 
twin  sister  to  the  model  who  sat  for  the  woman  in 
Millais'  pictures.  All  about  her  there  was  the  air  of 
a  Madonna  who  knew  the  price  of  eggs  and  had 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  213 

no  intention  of  being  "  done  "  by  anybody.  Her 
face  grew  a  shade  more  pale  as  the  son  of  those 
blameworthy  Mortimers  came  in  with  her  two  chil- 
dren. Something  in  Martha's  eyes  made  her  catch 
her  breath. 

"  Bother,  you  know  Major  Mortimer?  " 

"  No.  I  have  not  had  that  pleasure."  The  little 
woman  had  the  fighting  spirit. 

Bill  bowed  over  her  hand  and  murmured  a  stere- 
otyped phrase.  Here  was  antagonism. 

"  Dad,  you  've  met  —  " 

Wainwright  held  out  a  cordial  hand.  "  Never," 
he  said.  "  I  much  regret  to  say.  But  I  am  ex- 
tremely glad  to  do  so  now.  You  know  my  daugh- 
ter, Major  Mortimer?"  It  was  a  perfectly  guile- 
less lapse  of  memory.  He  had  forgotten  for  the  mo- 
ment that  Martha  and  Tom  had  recently  dined  at 
the  Mortimer  house  and  all  that. 

But  it  staggered  Bill.  Great  Heaven,  what  a 
jump  he  had  to  take.  He  might  have  fallen  from 
Mars.  The  only  bright  speck  on  the  horizon  was 
provided  by  Tom,  who  stood  beaming  upon  him. 
Martha  fluttered  about,  trying  to  hide  excitement 
under  a  mask  of  casualness. 

Bill  could  see,  plainly  enough,  that  although  Mr. 
Wainwright  accepted  his  visit  in  the  friendliest  way 
and  without  any  suspicion  of  its  object,  Mrs.  Wain- 
wright's  eyes  were  upon  him  like  those  of  a  mother 
fox  at  the  approach  of  a  hound.  Intuition  had  told 
her  that  he  had  come  after  her  girl.  All  over  her 
pretty  pale  face  was  the  question,  "  How  far  has 


214  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

this  gone?"  Bill  would  have  preferred  to  have 
been  under  the  bombs  of  enemy  aircraft,  even. 

The  room  was  a  large  one,  cheerful  and  comfort- 
able, a  combination  of  sitting-room  and  billiard 
room.  It  boasted  one  of  those  huge  uncompro- 
mising stone  fireplaces  with  which  nothing  earthly 
can  be  done  and  a  collection  of  very  red  and  white 
pictures  of  the  Pickwick  period,  with  fat  horses,  and 
rosy  maids,  and  waggling  cobble-stones  and  three- 
bottle-men  illustrating  the  good  old  times  in  a  bland 
and  childlike  manner  that  had  its  charm. 

Tom  rushed  chairs  forward,  cigars  and  cigarettes, 
and  for  a  long  half  hour  there  was  general  conversa- 
tion which  went  from  the  golf  course  to  weather, 
from  President  Wilson  to  the  League  of  Nations. 
When  Bill  faltered  under  the  minute  examination 
of  Mrs.  Wainwright  Tom  plunged  in  like  a  porpoise 
and  away  it  went  again,  Wainwright  more  and  more 
taken  by  the  visitor's  good  looks,  modesty,  and  de- 
lightful though  only  occasional  grin.  And  all  the 
while  Martha  continued  to  flutter,  now  sitting  on 
the  arm  of  her  mother's  chair,  now  standing  with  her 
hand  on  her  father's  shoulder,  saying  nothing  but 
looking  a  dictionary. 

And  just  as  Bill  was  coming  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  would  have  to  perform  a  strategic  retreat  and 
write  a  letter  under  the  supervision  of  the  Old  Rip, 
Tom,  a  born  soldier,  acted  on  his  own  initiative  and 
created  a  diversion.  He  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Dad," 
he  said,  "  how  about  taking  the  Major  into  your  den 
for  a  bit.  I  was  telling  him  of  the  war  relics  that 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  215 

you  Ve   collected.     He 's    frightfully  keen  to   see 
them." 

Mr.  Wainwright  was  up  at  once.  He  was  proud 
of  his  German  helmets  and  iron  crosses  and  always 
glad  to  show  off  the  room  that  he  considered  to  be 
the  nicest  in  the  house.  "  Come  along  then, 
Major,"  he  said.  "  No  doubt  you  've  seen  a  better 
lot  than  I  've  been  able  to  get  together,  but  one  or 
two  of  the  things  are  interesting,  especially  the  diary 
of  a  Hun  flying  man  that  was  given  to  me  by  a 
nephew  of  mine  who  found  it  in  No  Man's  Land." 

Bill  followed  him  out,  giving  Tom  one  quick  sig- 
nal of  thanks,  but  not  daring  to  look  at  Martha. 
Mrs.  Wainwright's  eyes  were  still  upon  him.  Here 
was  his  only  chance.  If  there  had  been  the  rudi- 
ments of  ordinary  social  hypocrisy  in  his  soul  he 
would  have  begun  by  saying,  "  Ah,  this  is  a  corking 
room,"  and  insisted  on  inspecting  the  den  from 
corner  to  corner  with  growing  enthusiasm.  Also, 
he  would  have  made  several  not  too  subtle  refer- 
ences to  his  host's  high  reputation  and  dragged  in  a 
purely  imaginary  tag  of  conversation  overheard  at 
the  Country  Club  as  to  the  excellence  of  his  golf. 
All  this  to  prepare  the  way  for  his  bolt  from  the 
blue.  But  Bill  was  not  made  of  this  stuff.  He  had 
never  played  the  lap  dog  or  picked  up  the  tricks  of 
the  glib  society  parasite.  So  what  he  did  was  to 
close  the  door,  plant  himself  in  front  of  Martha's 
father,  give  himself  a  metaphorical  jab  with  the 
spurs,  and  blunder  head  first  into  the  thing  that  sat 
so  heavily  on  his  chest. 


216  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

"  Mr.  Wainwright,"  he  said,  putting  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  holding  on  to  the  floor  with  his  feet, 
"  I  love  Martha  most  awfully  and  I  want  you  to  be 
good  enough  to  let  her  marry  me.  I  ought  to  say 
that  I  've  spoken  to  Martha  and  that  she  's  ready  to 
take  the  risk  —  I  mean  willing  to  undergo 
the  ..."  The  Bill  grin  followed  on  the  heels 
of  a  wave  of  color  that  ran  up  to  his  forehead. 
He  cleared  his  throat  and  took  the  finish  hard. 
"  In  fact,  she  loves  me  and  if  you  've  no  objection 
we  should  like  to  make  plans  to  be  married  right 
away." 

An  equally  simple  man,  devoid  of  social  veneer, 
Wainwright  gasped.  This  was  indeed  a  bolt  from 
the  blue.  It  had  occurred  to  him  vaguely  at  odd 
moments  that  Martha  would  one  day  be  carried  out 
of  his  life  and  home  and  he  had  turned  cold  at  the 
thought  of  the  appalling  gap  that  she  would  leave 
in  them.  But  this  was  sprung  so  suddenly,  without 
a  preliminary  hint.  He  knew  nothing  of  this  man 
except  that  he  was  a  noted  polo-player,  Tom's  Major, 
the  son  of  two  notorious  people  whose  lives  had  run 
on  totally  different  rails  from  his  own,  —  that  he 
was,  although  palpably  a  gentleman  and  a  very  win- 
ning person,  years  older  than  his  little  girl.  .  .  . 

"  Good  God,"  he  said,  standing  aghast. 

And  there  was  one  of  those  strange  silences  dur- 
ing which  it  is  popularly  supposed  that  an  angel 
passes  over  the  grave  of  a  seaman,  —  though  why 
a  seaman  necessarily  nobody  seems  to  know.  And 
during  this  the  two  men  held  each  other's  eyes,  the 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  217 

one  deeply  disappointed  at  the  reception  given  to  his 
question,  the  other  trying  to  find  himself  in  a  blank 
maze  among  all  the  windings  of  which  Martha,  the 
cheerful  dependable  Martha,  the  apple  of  his  eye, 
was  missing. 

"  You  don't  like  the  idea,"  said  Bill,  finally. 

And  that  brought  Wainwright  back  into  the  pres- 
ent with  a  thud.  Good  Lord,  what  had  he  said? 
"  I  never  suggested  that,"  he  answered,  nervously. 
"  You  caught  me  in  the  wind,  I  think.  Honestly, 
you  're  the  last  man  —  " 

"  Say  it,"  said  Bill. 

"Well,  then,  with  apologies,  you're  not  my  idea 
of  the  man  Martha  would  come  to  me  about,  Major 
Mortimer.  When  I  thought  about  it  at  all,  which, 
selfishly  enough,  I  've  tried  not  to  do,  I  saw  a  young, 
—  a  younger  fellow,  the  son  of  a  man  of  my  own 
class,  in  business,  building  up  a  career,  and  all  that. 
You  don't  work  —  I  've  got  to  say  this  —  and  my 
wife  will  be  afraid  that  the  example  of  the  Commo- 
dore—  No,  I  can't  go  on." 

Good  Lord,  he  was  going  to  ask  for  the  key  of  the 
Blue  Room !  .  .  .  "  Yes,  go  on,"  said  Bill. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Wainwright.  He  pointed 
to  a  chair  and  placed  another  near  by  ...  With- 
out trying  this  man  made  himself  liked.  He  had 
straight  eyes  and  was  a  sportsman.  He  made  it 
possible  to  talk  the  A  B  C  of  things  without  jug- 
gling with  words.  He  certainly  could  offer  Martha 
pretty  well  everything  there  was  from  the  worldly 
point  of  view,  —  money,  leisure,  travel,  and  pres- 


218  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

ently  the  old  house.  Tom  was  crazy  about  him,  and 
he  ought  to  know.  He  had  been  a  fine  soldier,  up- 
holding the  honor  of  the  United  States.  .  .  . 

"  I  've  just  this  to  say,  and  nothing  else  really 
matters."  A  little  tremble  crept  into  Wainwright's 
voice.  "  Martha  has  n't  known  any  men,  living  out 
here,  beyond  the  commuting  lines.  She  was  barely 
seventeen  at  the  time  we  went  into  the  war,  —  two 
years  late,  and  with  Tom  in  it  and  his  young  friends 
joining  up,  she  had  less  chance  than  ever  to  measure 
men  and  come  to  conclusions.  Then  you  come 
back,  Tom's  Major,  of  whom  he  had  written  in 
glowing  terms,  and  find  her  in  a  state  of  khaki 
ecstasy,  and  it  may  be  —  and  I'm  afraid  of  this, 
deadly  afraid,  Mortimer  —  that  unless  you  give  her 
time  to  get  back  to  normal  she  may  wake  up  when 
it 's  too  late.  I  have  to  speak  like  this.  She  means 
—  I  can't  say  how  much  to  me.  But  if  her  love  for 
you  is  the  big  thing  —  " 

"  Ask  her,"  said  Bill,  eagerly. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  Waimvright  got  up, 
went  to  the  door,  called,  came  back  and  stood  look- 
ing at  Bill  in  a  curious  half  wistful  half  resentful 
way,  hoping  that  he  was  all  right  for  Martha's  sake, 
feeling  that  he  had  come  to  steal  the  most  precious 
thing  in  that  house. 

Martha  flew  in  like  a  bird,  shut  the  door,  went 
straight  to  her  father  and  put  her  face  against  his 
shoulder.  There  was  a  strong  light  on  the  banker's 
fine,  well-balanced  face,  too  deeply  lined  and  too 
white  at  the  temples  for  a  man  of  his  years. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  219 

Bill  was  up,  waiting.  He  was  without  fear. 
Yesterday,  on  the  hill,  as  the  sun  was  going  down, 
there  had  been  something  in  Martha's  eyes  that  al- 
lowed him  now  to  stake  his  soul  on  the  depth  of  her 
love. 

But  before  Wainwright  could  find  further  words 
the  door  was  opened  again,  and  his  wife  came  into 
the  room,  paler  than  ever,  but  with  a  firm  step  and 
the  halo  of  motherhood  about  her  pretty  head. 

"  Why  am  I  left  out?  "  she  asked. 

In  three  strides  Bill  was  at  her  side.  He  drew 
her  hand  through  his  arm  and  led  her  down. 

"  Mother,"  said  Wainwright,  "  Major  Mortimer 
has  come  to  ask  us  for  Martha.  I  called  her  in  to 
tell  me  if  she  is  quite  certain  that  he  is  the  man  for 
her,  absolutely  sure  of  herself.  If  so  there  is  noth- 
ing for  us  to  do  to  keep  her,  nothing  for  us  to  say, 
except  good  luck." 

Mrs.  Wainwright  gave  a  strange  cry,  freed  her- 
self from  Bill  and  held  out  her  arms.  It  was  not 
the  mother  who  held  her  child,  but  Martha  who  held 
the  little  delicate  woman  whose  work  she  had  done, 
whose  prop  she  had  been,  and  who,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  must  do  without  her  soon  when  the  nest  was 
deserted. 

And  all  three  listened  to  an  outburst  of  young 
lyrical  passion  that  shook  their  hearts  and  stirred 
their  blood. 

"  He  is  the  man  for  me,  the  only  man  in  this 
world.  Night  and  day  for  two  years,  night  and 
day,  I  Ve  loved  and  waited  and  prayed,  in  agony  and 


220  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

anguish,  and  if  he  had  never  come  back  I  should 
have  loved  and  waited  and  prayed  again,  night  and 
day  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  And  if  he  'd  come  back 
and  passed  me  by  I  should  have  gone  on  doing  my 
job,  but  in  agony  and  anguish,  night  and  day,  for  he 
is  the  only  man  in  this  world  for  me." 

And  then,  kissing  her  and  clinging  for  a  moment 
in  a  sort  of  despair,  Mrs.  Wainwright  turned  to 
Bill  and  stood  back  as  white  as  a  lily.  "  She  is 
yours,"  she  said. 

And  Bill  looked  at  Wainwright,  who  nodded  and 
tried  to  smile.  It  was  a  poor  effort.  The  den  must 
lose  its  partner. 

And  like  a  bird  again  Martha  flew  into  Bill's  arms 
and  held  up  her  face. 

And  the  mother  went  to  her  husband  for  com- 
fort. 

IV 

AFTER  that  Bill  continued  his  policy  of  wangling 
with  an  amount  of  nervous  energy  that  put  both 
houses  into  a  fever  of  movement.  Having  obtained 
the  consent  of  the  Wainwright  parents  to  his  en- 
gagement, —  a  tremendous  step  in  the  right  direc- 
tion and  one  that  left  innumerable  bunkers  behind, 
—  he  decided  to  strike  while  the  irons  were  hot  and 
bring  the  date  of  the  wedding  nearer  by  two  weeks. 
This  was  not  going  to  be  an  easy  business,  because 
Mrs.  Wainwright  held  old-fashioned  ideas  on  the 
question  of  a  trousseau,  and  having  faced  the  in- 
evitable might  insist  upon  indulging  in  an  orgy  of 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  221 

sentimental  femininity  which  could  only  be  satisfied 
by  a  riot  of  dressmaking  and  a  long  list  of  visits  to 
department  stores. 

Martha  was  willing  to  walk  out  at  any  moment, 
find  a  church  and  get  married.  Had  n't  she  been 
waiting  for  two  years  and  a  month?  And  Bill,  to 
whom  every  moment  had  become  precious,  would 
have  urged  this  easy  course  but  for  the  advice  of  his 
mother.  "  Dear  Bill,"  she  said,  with  the  impatient 
man  pacing  the  room  and  wrecking  the  peace  of  the 
old  quiet  house,  "  we  must  consider  the  feelings  of 
Mrs.  Wainwright.  She  has  inherited  a  certain  Jane 
Austenism  from  her  Boston  relatives  and  won't  be- 
lieve that  this  marriage  is  made  in  Heaven  unless 
Martha  has  at  least  four  full  trunks  of  perfectly  new 
things.  Once  Boston  always  Boston,  you  know 
that.  She  has  only  just  recovered  from  a  long  ill- 
ness and  is  still  delicate  and  frail.  On  top  of  this 
she  has  been  suddenly  tossed  into  a  state  of  mental 
chaos,  at  the  bottom  of  which  there  is  a  very  natural 
fear  as  to  the  wisdom  of  letting  her  little  girl  slip 
out  of  her  righteous  home  into  that  of  those  wicked 
Mortimers.  A  month  must  seem  to  her  to  be  al- 
most indecent  haste.  What  the  poor  dear  lady 
will  say  to  a  fortnight  I  really  dare  not  think." 

"Well,  can't  you  see  her,"  said  Bill,  "and  get  on 
her  soft  side  by  saying  that  July  honeymoons  are 
lucky,  or  something.  She  may  be  superstitious.  I 
am  and  so  's  Martha.  We  're  frightfully  nervous 
about  August,  and  of  course  September  is  simply 
asking  for  it.  Martha  has  two  absolutely  new 


222  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

frocks,  she  tells  me,  and  loads  of  the  other  things. 
She  could  dash  into  town  and  fill  a  van  with  clothes 
in  three  hours.  I  'd  go  with  her  and  help  her 
choose  them." 

"  A  most  immoral  idea.  For  pity's  sake  don't 
suggest  such  a  proceeding.  Besides,  why  give  away 
the  fact  that  you  know  anything  about  what  girls 
wear?  Leave  it  to  me,  Bill.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wain- 
wright  are  coming  to  dinner  to-night  with  Tom  and 
the  dear  child  and  I  will  see  what  can  be  done  to  — 
what 's  the  word  that  you  Ve  brought  back  ?  — 
wangle  things  your  way." 

"Great  work!"  said  Bill,  and  disappeared  at  a 
run.  He  was  going  riding  with  Martha  in  half  an 
hour.  There  was  no  time  to  lose. 

It  was  lucky  for  the  Old  Rip  that  he  had  stopped 
for  a  moment  to  admire  himself  in  the  glass  in  the 
hall.  Otherwise  there  would  have  been  a  collision 
at  the  door.  He  had  just  performed  his  morning 
two-mile  walk  up  and  down  the  long  drive  from  the 
house  to  the  gates,  followed  under  protest  by  his  old 
water-spaniel  which  took  no  further  exercise  for  the 
day  on  any  pretext.  Made  up  for  a  warm  morning 
in  a  blue  flannel  suit  with  brass  buttons  and  brown 
and  white  shoes  that  were  the  bane  of  Denham's 
life,  the  Commodore  did  not  feel  as  cool  as  he 
looked.  The  routine  had  gone  to  the  winds.  The 
beautiful  regularity  and  smoothness  of  pre-Bill  days 
had  been  suddenly  shattered.  That  boy,  being 
officially  engaged,  now  broke  all  the  laws,  had  come 
late  to  breakfast,  left  before  it  had  run  its  courses, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  223 

and  was  more  like  a  kite  without  a  tail  than  anything 
else.  "  It  is  appalling,"  the  Old  Rip  said  to  himself, 
"and  completely  undermines  all  Denham's  work  on 
my  face.  However,  it  is  for  the  good  of  the  family, 
and  it 's  about  time  I  placed  that  before  mere  per- 
sonal comfort.  My  reformation  is  complete." 

Mrs.  Mortimer  welcomed  him  with  a  smile  of 
quite  genuine  admiration,  and,  it  being  desirable  to 
cajole  him  into  his  best  temper  for  the  trying  even- 
ing that  was  to  come,  translated  it  into  words. 
"  My  dear  Barclay,  you  really  are  a  most  wonderful 
person.  I  thought  Bill  had  come  back  until  I  real- 
ized that  you  alone  among  men  wore  clothes  so 
well." 

The  old  fellow  preened  himself  at  the  double 
compliment.  Nothing  could  have  given  him  greater 
delight.  He  raised  his  wife's  hand  to  his  lips  as 
only  he,  and  the  unessential  husband  of  the  dear 
dead  Italian,  could  do  it.  But  the  last  remnants  of 
<i  never  very  keen  sense  of  humor  bubbled  up  un- 
expectedly. "My  love,"  he  said,  "continue  to  say 
those  charming  things  to  me,  but  accept  my  promise 
at  once  to  face  our  exemplary  neighbors  with  the 
utmost  tact  and  diplomacy.  In  one  evening  I  guar- 
antee to  prove  how  cruel  and  wicked  is  the  tongue 
of  gossip.  If  Mrs.  Wainwright  does  not  take  home 
with  her  a  new  opinion  of  me  that  will  make  her 
deeply  regret  her  preconceived  ideas  I  will  eat  my 
Panama  hat  cooked  as  a  cereal."  He  chuckled  like 
a  sardonic  parrot  which  had  spent  most  of  its  re- 
ceptive life  in  the  cabin  of  a  sea  captain, 


224  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

The  white-haired  lady  gave  a  little  laugh.  "  As 
I  have  often  said  before,  Barclay,  you  ought  to  have 
been  either  a  bishop  or  an  ambassador.  I  think  that 
if  I  wear  my  plainest  dress  and  no  jewelry,  we  tell 
Albery  to  serve  nothing  but  a  little  Burgundy  and  we 
both  refrain  with  grim  determination  from  talking 
of  anything  but  purely  local  things  there  will  be  a 
chance  of  our  getting  through  the  evening  by  the 
skin  of  our  teeth.  The  last  time  I  played  the  part 
of  Plain  Woman  was  at  the  house  in  New  York 
when  as  Chairman  of  the  Society  for  the  Propaga- 
tion of  the  Principles  of  Moral  Conduct  among  the 
Mixed  Choirs  of  the  Country  I  entertained  the 
members  at  tea." 

And  then,  by  mutual  consent,  these  two  people 
who  had  been  forced  to  become  mere  observers  of 
life  and  could  very  easily  see  the  end  of  the  road 
when  they  had  the  courage  to  look  in  that  direction, 
dropped  artificiality.  In  a  sort  of  way  they  went 
together  from  the  metaphorical  stage  on  which  they 
did  their  daily  stunts  for  each  other's  entertainment 
and  sat  in  a  room  behind  the  scenes  —  perfectly 
natural  and  human  creatures  for  a  brief  space,  anx- 
ious to  do  everything  to  push  forward  the  marriage 
that  was  so  vital  to  their  plans. 

"  I  'm  scared  about  to-night,  Lylyth,"  the  old  man 
said.  "  I  want  desperately  for  everything  to  go 
without  a  hitch.  I  hope  to  God  I  shan't  say  or  do 
anything  to  jar  Mrs.  Wainwright  and  make  her  put 
a  spoke  in  the  wheel.  Do  you  think  I  'd  better  be 
unwell  and  spend  the  evening  upstairs  ?  " 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  225 

"But  why,  Barclay?  You  wouldn't  desert  me, 
surely?" 

"Good  Lord,  no.  Only,  —  well,  to  tell  the  bit- 
ter truth,  my  dear,  I  caught  something  that  was 
said  about  me  at  the  Country  Club  yesterday  by  a 
man  of  the  Wainwright  type,  —  I  mean  the  hard- 
working, self-made,  backbone-of-the-country  man 
who  has  an  absolute  and  perfectly  natural  contempt 
for  one  who  never  did  a  stroke  of  work  in  his  life 
except  in  the  way  of  enjoyment.  '  God/  he  said, 
hardly  waiting  for  me  to  pass,  '  what  a  comic.' 
H'h  ....  Well,  it  might  do  Bill  and  the  cause  a 
service  if  I  withheld  myself  from  this  first  meeting 
and  left  you  to  do  the  honors  and  break  down  the 
prejudices.  Tell  me  frankly,  Lylyth.  Never  mind 
my  feelings,  my  dear.  I  'm  all  out  for  Bill." 

But  Mrs.  Mortimer  had  none  of  the  deadly  hon- 
esty that  goes  with  the  power  to  hurt.  The  absence 
of  this  falsely  youthful  man  with  the  elaborate  man- 
ners of  a  former  generation  would  certainly  help 
things.  He  must  inevitably  seem  to  the  narrow 
Mrs.  Wainwright  to  be  the  epitome  of  rips,  and  fill 
her  with  apprehension  at  the  thought  of  his  effect 
on  Martha.  From  what  she  judged  of  the  child's 
mother  she  did  not  possess  the  imagination  to  see 
in  Barclay  Mortimer  not  a  comic  but  a  tragic  figure, 
clinging  pathetically  to  life  and  imbued  only  with 
a  touching  eagerness  to  welcome  a  grandchild  be- 
fore his  summons  came.  So  she  lied  with  her 
usual  charm,  as  all  kind  women  should,  and  took  a 
chance. 


226  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

"Bill  and  I  would  never  forgive  you  if  you  left 
us  in  the  lurch,"  she  said.  "  Before  the  end  of  the 
evening  Mrs.  Wainwright  will  be  finding  excuses 
for  your  gallant  history  and  putting  the  blame  on 
the  sirens  who  led  you  astray."  And  she  kissed  her 
hand  to  him. 

Poor  old  fellow,  brought  back  to  childhood  by 
the  degenerating  hand  of  age.  His  mouth  did 
strange  things  and  his  eyes  flooded  with  tears. 
"You  —  you  have  a  golden  heart,  my  dear,"  he 
said.  "  I  wish  that  I  had  been  a  better  man  to 
you!" 

It  might  have  given  some  satisfaction  to  them 
both  to  know  that  the  Wainwright  parents  were 
equally  scared  at  the  evening  which  faced  them, 
equally  anxious  to  make  a  good  impression.  Martha 
loved  Bill  in  a  way  that  carried  all  before  it.  And 
Bill,  it  was  perfectly  plain,  returned  it  in  kind. 
Who  were  they,  then,  to  punish  these  two  for  the 
sins  of  their  parents  ?  What  else  could  they  do  but 
accept  the  inevitable  with  courage  and  prayer  and 
be  as  nice  as  they  could  to  Bill's  father  and  mother 
for  Martha's  sake? 

"  The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn,  good 
and  ill  together." 

Bill  escorted  his  mother's  guests  as  far  as  the 
bridge,  walking  with  Mrs.  Wainwright.  Jedburgh 
followed  with  Martha,  telling  her  a  story  of  Bill's 
coolness  under  fire  which  made  her  eyes  flame  with 
pride.  Tom  and  his  father  brought  up  the  rear, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  227 

arm  in  arm.  The  boy  would  marry  some  day,  and 
then  what? 

There  were  several  moments  of  acute  jealousy 
and  startling  realization  of  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  their  lives  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wain- 
wright  walked  on  without  Martha,  seeing  the  pic- 
ture of  her  in  Bill's  arms  through  the  back  of  their 
heads. 

It  was  not  late,  but  with  the  feeling  that  to-morrow 
would  be  the  first  of  a  short  series  of  crowded  days 
no  one  stayed  up.  Wainwright  unhooked  his  wife's 
frock.  He  had  n't  the  remotest  idea  how  she  felt 
about  the  evening  and  being  a  wise  man  left  it  to 
her  to  express  herself  without  questions.  "  Those 
Mortimers  "  had  often  been  the  subject  of  shocked 
conversation  during  the  last  two  years,  and  Martha's 
friendship  with  the  white-haired  lady  had  caused 
much  heart-burning.  What  now?  He  himself 
had  been  completely  won  over  by  Mrs.  Mortimer, 
had  found  the  Commodore,  after  the  first  shock, 
most  kind  and  delightful  and  had  never  been  in  a 
house  that  he  liked  so  much.  Would  his  wife  have 
the  moral  courage  to  eat  her  words  and  own  up  to 
a  new  point  of  view,  he  wondered  ?  If  so,  he  would 
be  considerably  surprised  and  very  proud.  A 
woman  who  could  alter  her  mind  could  alter  any- 
thing. 

"  How  did  you  like  the  dinner  service  ?  "  she 
asked,  doing  her  hair  and  coming  to  the  Great 
Question  in  her  own  way. 


228  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"Stunning,"  replied  Wainwright,  who  hadn't 
noticed  it. 

"  I  wish  we'd  bought  some  of  those  hooked  rugs 
at  Kennebunkport  last  year.  They  go  best,  of 
course,  with  Colonial  furniture,  but  they  would  have 
looked  nice  in  this  room.  I  saw  several  to-night 
that  made  my  mouth  water.  It 's  a  very  wonderful 
house,  you  know,  John." 

"  Is  it?  "     He  showed  no  enthusiasm. 

"  Well,  could  n't  you  see  that  it  was  ?  History, 
atmosphere,  refinement  and  everything  so  spotlessly 
clean  and  well  kept.  It 's  like  one  of  the  old  famous 
show  houses  in  England.  It 's  a  very  fine  family." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"  You  suppose  so  ?  *  -But,  my  dear  John,  did  n't 
you  see  the  story  of  its  achievements  in  those  beauti- 
ful portraits?  The  Mortimers  have  been  making 
American  history  since  the  earliest  days.  Where 
were  your  eyes,  John  ?  " 

But  Wainwright  had  been  married  too  long  to 
permit  himself  to  laugh.  V  I  was  looking  mostly 
at  Mrs.  Mortimer,"  he  said,  taking  out  his  studs. 

"  John,  it 's  my  opinion  that  Mrs.  Mortimer,  like 
other  women  who  have  taken  leading  positions  in 
society,  has  been  maligned.  There  is  a  sweetness 
about  her,  and  ....  and  a  simplicity  that  could 
not  belong  to  any  woman  who  had  not  lived  and 
thought  well,  —  and  I  very  soon  noticed  that  her 
love  for  Bill,  from  the  way  she  looked  at  him,  was 
much  too  great  to  go  with  the  —  the  flightiness  of 
which  she  has  been  accused." 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  229 

Bill,  —  how  easily  she  had  achieved  that  name. 
Unexpected  creatures,  —  women.  He  was  so  con- 
sumed with  curiosity  to  hear  what  she  would  say 
about  the  old  man  that  he  put  the  question.  It  was 
his  first  mistake. 

"I  don't  like  him,"  she  replied.  "Like  all  men 
who  dye  their  hair  he  looks  a  little  unearthly.  I 
don't  mean  angelic,  but  weird,  grotesque.  One  ex- 
pects him  to  fall  to  pieces  and  sits  on  tenterhooks. 
He  looks  like  an  actor  leaving  a  theater  after  a  mat- 
inee in  his  make-up.  Not  that  I  've  ever  seen  one. 
All  the  same,  he  must  have  been  very  handsome 
when  he  was  young,  and  I  always  think  that  noth- 
ing is  a  greater  handicap  to  a  young  man  than  that, 
especially  when  he  begins  with  too  much  money  and 
nothing  to  do.  I  don't  withdraw  my  opinion  of  the 
Commodore.  He  has  done  things  that  must  make 
his  ancestors,  —  and  do  make,  he  told  me  so,  —  look 
down  upon  him  with  anger  and  contempt.  But, 
and  this  he  told  me  too,  —  he  has  suffered  great  re- 
morse and  is  a  changed  character.  And  he  gave  me 
one  beautiful  and  moving  thought,  John.  He  said 
that  Bill  had  done  a  great  deal  in  his  war  service  to 
wipe  the  stain  from  the  family  but  that  it  was  to 
Martha  that  they  all  looked  to  place  the  name  back 
to  where  the  late  Mortimer  men  had  left  it,  —  to 
our  little  Martha,  John.  Think  of  that,  dear." 
Her  voice  broke. 

Wainwright  had  been  thinking  of  that  all  the 
evening,  and,  he  had  to  confess  it,  without  over- 
whelming satisfaction.  He  did  n't  honestly  give 


230  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

a  tinker's  curse  about  the  glory  of  the  name  of 
Mortimer.  His  one  intense  anxiety  and  concern 
was  for  Martha  to  be  happy  with  Bill.  The  more 
he  saw  of  Bill  the  more  he  found  him  a  good  sports- 
man, and  a  most  likable  fellow,  cheery,  sincere  and 
without  side.  His  baby,  his  dear  pal-daughter,  who 
had  stuck  to  home  and  played  the  game  with  such 
pluck  and  made  herself  a  place  in  his  house  and 
heart  that  would  be  cold  and  empty  when  she  had 
gone,  —  she  was  his  one  consideration  and  her  hap- 
piness his  only  thought.  Never  mind  Bill's  people. 
Was  Bill  all  right?  He  was  thankful  to  believe 
that  he  was.  .  .  .  When  was  his  wife  coming  to 
Bill,  by  the  way,  —  the  one  who  really  mattered? 

But  before  Mrs.  Wainwright  brought  Bill  into 
her  summing  up  of  that  epoch-making  evening,  she 
went  round  by  the  silver  and  Albery,  the  unostenta- 
tious meal  and  wine,  the  length  of  the  drawing- 
room,  the  size  of  the  closets  and  the  quietness  of 
Jedburgh.  "I  like  Bill,"  she  said  finally.  "He's 
—  he  's  such  a  boy.  I  'm  thankful  to  be  well  again, 
John.  There  are  only  two  weeks  in  which  to  get 
Martha's  trousseau  together." 

All  of  which,  especially  the  last  remark,  went  to 
prove  that  the  white-haired  lady's  promise  to  wangle 
things  had  been  very  well  kept. 

V 

THE  excitement  of  the  following  days  was  added 
to  by  the  extraordinary  publicity  that  was  given 
the  announcement  of  tbe  forthcoming  marriage. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  231 

Martha  had  never  dreamed  of  finding  her  name  and 
photograph  in  the  papers  and  was,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, utterly  unaware  of  the  fact  that  this  is  an 
almost  too  easy  feat  to  achieve.  You  might  have 
supposed  that  the  Mortimer- Wainwright  wedding 
was  almost  as  important  to  the  public  as  the  many 
grave  problems  which  followed  upon  the  heels  of 
the  war.  The  history  of  the  Mortimers  was 
dragged  out  of  dusty  pigeonholes  and  printed  on 
front  pages,  hashed  up  in  society  columns  witt 
spicy  comments  and  inaccurately  referred  to  b} 
paragraphists  in  the  Women's  Sections  of  evening 
papers.  Strings  of  male  and  female  reporters  in- 
vaded the  quietude  of  the  two  houses  with  the  in- 
evitable camera,  and  privacy  was  debauched. 

But  through  it  all  Mrs.  Wainwright  drove  to 
town  daily  with  Martha,  ticking  off  items  on  an 
ever  lengthening  list.  It  was  not  easy  to  buy  sum- 
mer clothes  in  shops  which  in  their  race  to  be  ahead 
of  time  were  already  given  over  to  autumn  wear 
and  furs.  As  to  all  good  mothers,  this  was  a  time 
of  exhilaration  and  pain,  and  Mrs.  Wainwright, 
swept  out  of  the  individualism  of  the  sick  woman, 
enjoyed  both  sensations  fully. 

Wearing  an  engagement  ring  upon  which  Bill  had 
spent  deep  thought  and  much  money  Martha  fol- 
lowed her  mother  from  shop  to  shop  as  in  a  dream. 
To  see  her  standing  among  deft-fingered  dressmak- 
ers with  a  genius  for  placing  pins,  far  away,  a  little 
odd  smile  on  her  lips,  not  knowing  or  caring  whether 
the  things  being  made  for  her  were  good  or  bad,  for 


232  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

night  or  day,  must  have  been  a  little  irritating  to 
those  concerned. 

"  Do  you  like  that  effect,  darling?  " 

"Yes,  Mother." 

"But  don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  with 
this  piece  brought  round  like  this  instead  of  like 
that?" 

"Yes,  Mother." 

"  And  are  you  quite  sure  about  the  color?  " 

"  Yes,  Mother." 

"  You  don't  think  you  'd  like  a  little  relief  at  the 
waist?" 

"  Yes,  Mother,  —  I  mean  no,  Mother." 

Whereupon  Madame  would  shrug  her  Fifty-Sev- 
enth Street  shoulders,  and  Mrs.  Wainwright,  dis- 
appointed but  remembering  her  own  far-off  days  of 
first  love,  would  go  back  to  her  trousseau-collecting 
with  a  renewed  sense  of  responsibility. 

It  was  during  this  period  of  bustle  and  fluster  and 
continually  arriving  boxes  from  New  York  to  a 
house  left  more  or  less  to  the  untender  mercies  of 
his  servants,  that  Wainwright  was  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  problem  that  has  to  be  solved  by  all 
men  who  live  to  give  away  their  daughters  in  mar- 
riage. Lunching  at  the  Bankers'  Club  in  the  middle 
of  the  week,  one  of  those  over-breezy  smack-you-on- 
the-back  men  went  up  to  him,  gave  his  usual  hearty 
and  meaningless  laugh  and  proceeded  to  say  all  the 
wrong  things  in  quick  succession.  "  Marrying  off 
the  daughter,  eh,  Wainwright?  Be  a  grandfather 
before  you  know  where  you  are,  haw-haw.  Bit 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  233 

of  a  sport,  Bill  Mortimer,  reg'lar  chip  of  the  old 
block.  About  time  he  settled  down  and  became 
domestic.  Always  had  a  soft  side  for  the  ladies, 
that  chap,  and  picked  some  fancy  ones  too,  as  I 
know.  Envied  him  the  blond  angel  that  was 
with  him  on  his  yacht  when  he  put  into  Bermuda 
the  winter  before  the  war.  I  '11  say  she  was 
some  peach.  Congratulations,  old  man.  It 's  a  fine 
family.  .  .  ." 

Wainwright  lay  awake  that  night,  with  the  old 
and  almost  inevitable  problem  weighing  heavily  on 
his  soul.  Hitherto,  in  his  desire  to  deal  bravely  and 
unselfishly  with  the  loss  of  his  little  girl,  he  had  al- 
lowed himself  to  consider  nothing  but  the  question 
of  her  immediate  happiness.  She  had  loved  Bill 
Mortimer  for  two  years,  and  had  consecrated  her 
prayers  to  his  safety  from  the  day  that  he  went  away 
to  the  day  that  he  came  back.  In  the  right  romantic 
spirit  of  all  young  things  who  have  not  undergone 
the  flattening-out  process  of  boarding-school  sophis- 
tication she  had  exalted  this  man  to  the  rank  of  a 
hero,  enrolled  him  among  the  gods.  He  was  and 
must  be  without  fear  and  without  reproach.  In  her 
outburst  of  love  and  triumph  that  night  in  the  den 
which  had  carried  Wainwright  and  his  wife  off 
their  feet,  these  facts  were  established  beyond  argu- 
ment. The  mother,  like  Wainwright  himself,  had 
been  swept  before  the  tidal  wave  of  Martha's  un- 
questioning faith  into  a  blind  acceptance  of  Bill  at 
his  face  value.  Their  prejudices  had  crumbled 
shamefacedly  after  meeting  and  feeling  the  charm 


234  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

of  the  Mortimers  in  their  rare  old  house.  They  had 
not  allowed  themselves  or  been  allowed  time  to  con- 
sider the  moral  side  of  Bill's  suitability.  The  mate- 
rial side  was  so  obviously  right.  In  one  moment, 
however,  Slap-you-on-the-back  had  thrown  down 
the  screen  and  disclosed  the  evidences  of  a  Blue 
Room  in  Bill's  life.  And  now,  with  his  house  chok- 
ing with  trousseau,  the  papers  reeking  with  an- 
nouncements, and  only  a  few  days  remaining  be- 
tween the  power  to  act  and  the  tying  of  the  knot, 
Wainwright  lay  stark  awake  in  the  middle  of  the 
night.  And  the  problem  that  had  to  be  solved  was 
this,  older  than  the  hills :  was  he  to  exert  all  his  in- 
fluence to  save  the  daughter  whose  life  and  mind 
were  as  spotless  as  the  heart  of  a  rose  from  the 
hands  of  a  man  who  had  been  "  a  sport "  and  "  a 
chip  of  the  old  block,"  or  fall  back  on  the  usual  mas- 
culine line  of  argument  in  such  a  case,  shrug  his 
shoulders,  say  men  will  be  men,  and  let  it  go  at 
that?  .  .  .  For  something  over  eighteen  }rears  this 
child,  his  only  girl,  the  apple  of  his  eye,  had  belonged 
wholly  to  him  and  his  wife,  tended  and  cared  for, 
protected  and  inspired.  Suddenly,  simply  for  the 
reason  that  a  total  stranger  had  touched  a  chord  and 
filled  her  heart  with  music,  was  all  this  to  go  for 
nothing,  was  she  to  be  delivered  over  without  a 
word?  The  blond  angel  of  the  Bermuda  episode 
alone  made  Bill  unable  to  hold  his  rank  among  the 
gods.  It  was  implied  that,  as  "  a  sport,"  he  had 
other  disqualifications.  Were  this  child's  love  and 
faith  to  be  left  unshaken,  or  was  it  Wainwright's 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  235 

duty  as  a  sane  man  and  owner  by  all  the  rights  of 
fatherhood  to  hold  up  his  hand,  even  now,  and  cry 
out  "  This  man  is  unfit  ?  " 

Wainwright's  own  life  had  been  as  clean  as  a  new 
slate.  He  had  begun  to  earn  his  living  at  the  age 
of  fourteen.  So  fully  occupied  had  he  been  with 
his  day's  work  and  his  evening  classes  that  there 
had  been  no  time  left  for  looseness,  and  no  spare 
money.  There  had  been  nothing  of  the  saint  about 
him,  nor  did  he  whip  himself  along  the  straight  path 
with  the  lash  of  religion.  Ambition  and  the  infi- 
nite capacity  for  taking  on  all  the  work  that  he  could 
get  had  kept  his  nose  to  the  grindstone.  He  had 
marked  out  a  goal  for  himself  and  gone  for  it.  He 
had  been  young  when  he  married,  and  with  the  added 
load  of  a  young  wife  on  his  shoulders  work  had  to 
become  a  greater  fetish  than  ever.  His  inclinations 
had  been  divided  equally  between  ambition  and 
home.  He  had  been  blessed  with  a  temperament 
which  had  no  artistic  tangents.  It  was  nothing  to 
his  moral  credit,  but  wholly  to  his  business  one- 
eyedness  that  when  the  ordinary  self-indulgences 
called  they  were  unheeded.  He  did  n't  say  to  him- 
self now,  "  You  are  a  good  man,  Wainwright,  a  bet- 
ter man  than  others,"  and  advertise  his  rectitude  in 
the  market  place  like  a  prohibitionist  and  a  Pharisee, 
made  up  for  the  part  in  the  ill-fitting  self-conscious 
clothes  of  a  crank,  ostentatiously  subscribing  to  one 
or  other  of  the  numerous  creeds  through  which  it  is 
difficult  to  find  any  real  religion.  He  was  not  one 
of  those  grossly  pure  men  to  whom  everything  is 


236  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

indecent,  —  the  self-appointed  censors  of  life.  He 
had  preserved  his  sanity  and  his  sense  of  humor, 
had  grown  in  sympathy  and  tolerance  and  fully  rec- 
ognized the  fact  that  he  had  himself  escaped  from 
the  penalties  of  human  weakness  only  because  he 
had  had  no  time  and  no  money  with  which  to  make 
hobbies  of  them.  When,  therefore,  he  rose  in  the 
morning,  tired  but  clear-brained,  the  conclusion  that 
he  had  arrived  at  was  this.  Somewhere  on  earth 
there  might  be  and  probably  was  the  man  who  was 
fit  in  every  respect  to  be  the  husband  of  his  beloved 
Martha.  If  he  could  be  produced  it  was  a  hundred 
to  one  against  her  falling  in  love  with  him.  Here, 
however,  was  Bill  who  adored  her  and  whom 
Martha  adored,  a  simple,  likable,  boyish  fellow,  who 
had  been  a  first-rate  soldier.  He  had  already  paid 
certain  installments  for  his  mistakes.  Everything 
has  to  be  paid  for.  It  was  probably  true  that  in 
some  way  in  future,  as  his  wife,  Martha  would  be 
called  upon  to  pay  the  balance.  But  she  loved 
him,  and  that  was  part  of  the  willing  price  of 
love.  All  Wainwright  could  do  was  to  be  thank- 
ful for  small  mercies,  hope  to  God  that  Bill's  love 
for  Martha  was  big  and  fine  enough  to  make 
him  go  straight  from  now  on  —  and  leave  it  at 
that. 

VI 

"  TEDDY,  old  son,"  said  Bill,  one  fine  morning  be- 
fore breakfast,  as  they  turned  their  horses'  noses 
stablewards  after  taking  them  over  the  jumps  that 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  237 

had  been  put  up  in  the  fields  to  the  west  of  the  house, 
"  everything  's  going  my  way.  It 's  marvelous.  I 
can  hardly  believe  it." 

"  Why  ?  You  were  born  under  a  lucky  star. 
Has  n't  everything  always  gone  your  way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  this  time,  the  one  time  in  my  life  when 
if  things  don't  go  my  way  they  put  me  into  an  un- 
holy smash,  I  Ve  been  afraid  to  rely  on  my  good  old 
star.  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  old  man,  that  the 
last  ten  days  have  been  the  worst  I  Ve  ever  been 
through.  During  every  hour  of  'em  all  I  've  been 
haunted  with  the  fear  of  coming  up  against  the  little 
devil  who  potters  about  the  earth  waiting  his  chance 
to  play  his  fiendish  tricks  with  the  plans  of  mice  and 
men." 

Jedburgh  ran  his  eyes  over  the  good-looking  face 
of  the  bare-headed,  sun-tanned  man  who  rode  at  his 
side.  The  happy-go-lucky  expression  which  had 
first  attracted  him  to  Bill  when  they  had  hunted  to- 
gether in  England  before  the  war  was  no  longer 
there.  Nor  had  it  been  since  he  had  arrived  at  the 
house.  Worry  had  drawn  several  lines  under  his 
friend's  eyes,  and  sleepless  nights  had  left  behind 
them  a  nervous  tension  of  which  he  had  been  pecul- 
iarly free.  Men  of  magnificent  health  who  fall  ill 
for  the  first  time  imagine  that  the  world  has  turned 
upside  down  and  see  Death  lurking  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  Anxiety,  which  had  been  an  utter  stranger 
to  Bill,  had  hit  him  harder  than  it  does  the  man  who 
had  had  other  doses  of  it.  "  Well,  there  are  only 
three  days  more,"  he  said,  "  and  away  you  go  on 


238  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

your  honeymoon.     I  don't  see  what  the  little  devil 
can  do  now,  Bill." 

"  I  don't,  either."  But  all  the  same  he  darted  a 
look  from  side  to  side  and  rapped  his  knuckles 
against  a  branch.  "  The  trousseau  is  more  or  less 
all  in.  Martha  is  going  to  town  for  the  last  time 
to-day.  Mrs.  Wainwright  was  very  cheery  with  me 
last  night,  —  almost  motherly,  in  fact.  And  Wain- 
wright, who  's  one  of  the  best,  has  dropped  looking 
at  me  as  if  I  were  a  thief  who  had  stolen  Martha. 
Tom  is  a  boy  one  will  like  most  awfully  to  have  as 
a  brother.  He  's  a  corker.  One  way  and  another, 
then,  there  is  n't  a  cloud  in  the  sky  and  only  three 
days  to  go  before  I  have  the  chance  to  show  every- 
body concerned  that  Bill's  reconstruction  is  going  to 
be  a  lasting  one,  and  that  Martha,  please  God,  shall 
never  regret  taking  him  on  for  good  and  all.  I 
wish  I  could  see  you  as  happy  as  I  am,  old  man." 

Jedburgh  wrinkled  up  his  eyes.  "  Impossible, 
Bill,"  he  said.  "  While  we  're  indulging  in  a  burst 
of  ego  I  '11  tell  you  something.  The  bloody  war, 
which  people  are  gulling  themselves  into  thinking  is 
over,  has  dug  into  my  system.  It 's  in  me  like  a 
cancer.  I  don't  believe  there  's  a  dog's  chance  of 
my  getting  cured  and  settling  down  somewhere  to 
breed  horses  or  something,  because  every  time  I  take 
up  the  paper  and  see  that  all  our  work  has  gone  for 
nothing  blasphemy  rises  to  my  head  and  I  'm  an  ill 
man  again.  It 's  no  good  your  saying,  '  Why  take 
it  seriously  ?  What  the  devil 's  it  got  to  do  with 
you  ?  '  My  answer  is,  it 's  got  over  four  of  the 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  239 

best  years  of  my  life  to  do  with  me,  my  home  and 
future,  and  all  the  dead  bodies  that  I  have  only  to 
close  my  eyes  to  see  lying  about  in  vast  heaps,  for- 
gotten, chucked  into  that  massacre  in  vain.  .  .  . 
One  came  out  of  this  orgy  of  lunacy,  —  I  mean  we, 
the  older  men,  —  hoping  with  a  great  intensity  that 
the  lessons  of  the  war  would  be  made  immediate  use 
of  and  that  its  horror  and  madness  would  have 
shocked  some  sort  of  unselfishness  and  nobility  into 
the  souls  of  the  creatures  who  ran  us  into  the  mess. 
But,  by  God,  that  hope  is  a  vain  and  foolish  one,  as 
every  single  day  goes  to  show.  The  men  who  are 
misrunning  the  Peace  show  are  the  same  political 
muddlers  who  misran  the  war  show.  Without  any 
sense  of  shame  they  are  in  their  same  old  jobs, 
fighting  and  struggling  for  personal  triumphs,  ad- 
vertising and  misdirecting  in  the  same  old  way. 
They  have  come  out  of  their  funk  holes  to  stand  in 
the  limelight  and  take  the  bow  with  the  same  old 
effrontery  and  cynicism,  —  laughing  like  the  devil 
at  '  those  fools  the  people.'  They  have  been  per- 
mitted to  retain  their  hold  of  the  various  govern- 
ments by  us,  you  and  me  and  the  other  fellow,  be- 
cause we  don't  care.  They  are  perfectly  safe  to  go 
on  drawing  their  salaries  and  being  promoted  every 
time  they  fail  and  playing  merry  hell  with  all  the  ap- 
palling problems  their  own  particular  war  has  left 
in  its  wake.  Each  gang  has  its  papers  to  boost  them 
and  undermine  their  rivals  and  every  single  thing 
they  are  doing  now  is  not  for  the  good  of  their 
particular  country  but  to  strengthen  their  political 


240  THE     BLUE    ROOM 

party  and  consolidate  themselves.  The  Govern- 
ments are  like  a  lot  of  backyard  cats  fighting  for 
bones.  It 's  a  sight  that  must  make  every  dead  man 
writhe  in  his  grave,  if  he 's  got  one,  and  every 
wounded  man  vow  never  again  to  allow  them  to 
move  him  one  inch.  But  all  the  same  we  shall  con- 
tinue to  leave  them  where  they  are,  because  it 's  too 
much  fag  to  organize  against  them,  and  they  '11  mess 
up  the  Peace  as  they  messed  up  the  war  and  go  on 
blundering  and  bleeding  the  people  till  the  end  of 
time.  It 's  nobody's  fault  but  ours,  —  yours  and 
mine  and  the  other  fellow's.  We  '11  pay  any  price 
to  buy  even  half  the  right  to  look  for  happiness, 
and  snatch  the  sunny  moments  when  they  come.  But 
if  we  all  cared  about  the  universal  happiness  we 
would  n't  let  things  remain  as  they  are  or  leave  our 
fate  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  professional  politi- 
cians who  have  run  civilization  into  its  present 
chaos." 

He  rode  his  horse  into  the  yard,  dismounted,  gave 
the  bridle  to  a  boy  and  with  a  look  of  apology  to 
Bill  for  his  outpouring,  walked  off  to  be  alone.  His 
crlse  de  nerfs  demanded  either  solitude  or  mul- 
titude. 

Bill  watched  him  go,  asking  himself  who  there 
was  to  give  his  pal  the  right  sort  of  tonic.  He  was 
indulging  in  the  most  pitiable  of  all  forms  of  fool- 
ishness. He  was  kicking  his  foot  against  the 
pricks,  by  which  he  achieved  nothing  but  very  sore 
toes.  Bill  did  n't  mind  being  lumped  into  the  "  us  " 
who  "  did  n't  care,"  He  frankly  did  not  care. 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  241 

The  be-all  and  end-all  of  his  hopes  and  desires  was 
to  be  safely  and  happily  married  to  Martha  and 
wash  out  his  past  record  by  playing  the  game.  For 
the  rest,  —  well,  yes,  let  Teddy  place  him  among  the 
other  fellows.  Things  seemed  to  come  out  pretty 
right  in  the  long  run,  in  spite  of  the  rotten  politi- 
cians. .  .  .  He  wondered  whether  Teddy  Jed- 
burgh  would  have  flung  more  than  an  occasional  or- 
dinary curse  at  the  heads  of  the  old  Bad  Men  if, 
like  himself,  he  were  on  the  verge  of  marriage  with 
such  a  darling  as  Martha. 

The  same  speculation  entered  Jedburgh's  head  as 
the  scent  of  the  roses  smoothed  out  his  rage.  He 
would  have  rejoiced  to  believe  that  he  had  become 
normal  enough  to  let  the  earth  stew  in  its  own 
grease  till  the  crack  of  doom  if  Primrose  were  going 
to  be  his  wife.  But  he  had  come  to  realize  the  truth 
of  his  malady.  It  was  a  cancer,  as  he  had  told  Bill. 
He  was  one  of  the  numerous  victims  of  permanent 
shell  shock  caused  by  the  sight  of  blood  and  blun- 
ders whose  soul  contained  the  germ  of  revenge  and 
to  whom  happiness  was  no  longer  within  reach. 
Sooner  or  later  he  would  have  to  go  forth  and  speak 
his  thoughts  aloud  to  crowds,  and  his  friends,  rais- 
ing their  eyebrows  in  horrified  surprise,  would  say, 
"  Good  God,  Jedburgh  's  gone  dotty.  He  's  become 
a  Bolshevist." 

VII 

CUTTING  breakfast  Bill  hurried  to  keep  an  ap- 
pointment with  Martha  before  she  made  her  last 


242  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

trip  to  town.  The  path  in  the  lengthening  grass 
from  the  bridge  to  the  Wainwright  garden  had  been 
made  by  him  since  the  day  of  hjs  engagement.  The 
rolling  field  was  alive  with  wild  flowers,  white  and 
yellow  and  purple  streaked  with  the  curious  red  of 
sorrel.  Half-tame  squirrels,  looking  out  wholly 
for  themselves,  as  usual,  darted  inquisitive  looks  at 
Bill  as  he  passed.  Sunlight  shimmered  over  every- 
thing. 

Dressed  for  the  journey  Martha  waved  her  hand 
when,  from  the  flat  rock  on  the  crown  of  the  in- 
cline, she  saw  Bill  waiting  for  her  in  the  usual  meet- 
ing-place. She  danced  all  the  way  down  like  a 
wood  nymph  who  had  stolen  conventional  clothes, 
her  teeth  gleaming  and  her  eyes  alight  with  the  sheer 
joy  of  being  alive.  And  he  caught  her  and  swung 
her  off  her  feet,  her  laughter  floating  into  the  air 
like  blown  petals.  There  was  little  of  the  diffident 
lover  about  Bill  these  days. 

It  was  only  between  kisses  that  she  was  able  to 
find  out  his  plans  for  the  day.  "  Please,  please, 
Bill.  I  Ve  only  two  minutes." 

"  I  'm  in  a  foursome  this  morning,"  said  Bill. 
"  After  lunch  I  shall  be  in  town  too." 

"  Meet  me  somewhere  at  five  o'clock  and  drive 
me  back.  Mother  won't  mind.  Oh,  Bill,  you 
must." 

"  I  'd  love  it,  my  sweet,  but  I  have  business  to  see 
to  that  '11  keep  me  in  town.  I  'm  going  to  dine  in 
my  rooms  and  sleep  there  and  see  my  lawyer  again 
in  the  morning." 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  243 

If  he  had  looked  quickly  behind  the  nearest  tree 
he  might  have  seen  the  little  devil  lurking,  with  an 
evil  leer  on  his  face. 

"  And  you  won't  be  here  to-night  ?  What  an  aw- 
ful blow !  This  is  the  last  time  I  shall  see  you  then 
until  I  stand  trembling  at  the  altar." 

"Good  Lord,  why?" 

"  It 's  Mother's  idea.  It  is  n't  conventional  for 
us  to  have  anything  to  do  with  each  other  during  the 
three  days  before  the  ceremony,  she  says." 

Bill  gave  a  perfectly  sincere  imitation  of  mental 
collapse. 

"  But  there 's  the  telephone,  Bill,  and  here  's  the 
chance  for  you  to  write  me  letters  and  tell  me  prop- 
erly all  the  things  you  've  forgotten  to  say. 
Exactly  how  much  you  love  me,  —  you  've  never 
really  told  me  that?"  She  crept  as  close  as  she 
could  and  held  up  her  face. 

"  It  is  n't  easy  to  tell  you  that,"  said  Bill.  "  I  'd 
have  to  be  a  poet.  And  if  I  tried  to  write  it,  it  'ud 
take  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  And  then  someone 
would  have  to  edit  my  spelling."  But  the  kiss  he 
gave  her  told  more  than  all  the  volumes  in  the  Pub- 
lic Library. 

"  The  last  touches  to  my  wedding  dress  to-day, 
Bill,"  she  whispered. 

"What's  it  like,  Babe?" 

"  White,  I  believe,  but  does  it  matter?  " 

"  Nothing  matters  except  the  band  that  binds 
you  to  me,  darling." 

There  was  a  loud  woo-hoo. 


244  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  That 's  Tom,"  said  Martha.  "  I  asked  him  to 
let  me  know  when  the  car  came  round." 

"  Oh,  hang  the  car." 

"  No,  I  must  go.  It  gives  Mother  ten  fits  to  be 
late  for  an  appointment.  Good-by,  Bill." 

"  Not  Good-by.     I  hate  your  saying  that." 

"  So  long,  then."  She  flung  her  arms  round  his 
neck.  "  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  she 
said,  "  and  then  I  love  you." 

"  And  I  don't  just  love  you,"  said  Bill,  wishing  to 
God  that  those  words  had  never  been  on  his  lips  be- 
fore. "  I  adore  you,  my  dearest.  You  are  every- 
thing in  life  to  me.  I  only  want  the  chance  to  show 
you  what  I  mean  by  that." 

Once  more  the  loud  woo-hoo. 

Martha  broke  away  and  up  the  hill  she  went, 
turning  for  a  moment  at  the  top  to  wave  her  hand 
again. 

Bill  went  slowly  back  to  the  bridge,  the  brook 
singing  its  merriest  song  to  the  trees  under  whose 
crowded  branches  it  ran  and  to  the  wild  flowers  that 
watched  it  from  the  banks.  But  he  did  n't  go  home 
at  once.  He  went  up  to  the  hill  of  the  Seven  Sisters, 
and  sat  there  for  a  while,  looking  across  the  placid 
valley  to  the  smudge  of  hills  beyond.  His  soul  was 
stirred  to  the  exultation  that  comes  to  men  who  love 
beyond  expression  and  who  realize,  with  joy  and 
amazement,  that  they  are  the  master  of  a  young  and 
exquisite  life,  that  it  is  their  almost  divine  responsi- 
bility to  act  and  speak  and  think  in  such  a  way  as 
that  they  shall  inflict  no  bruise,  however  slight,  no 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  245 

disillusion,  however  fleeting.  To  this  simple,  hith- 
erto happy-go-lucky,  easily  led  man  there  came  the 
glorious  feeling  of  having  received  permission  to 
begin  life  all  over  again,  this  time  not  for  his  own 
pleasure  but  so  that  he  might  give  unblemished  hap- 
piness to  a  little  partner  whose  utter  faith  in  him 
was  wonderful  and  awe-inspiring  and  the  infinitude 
of  whose  love  filled  him  with  a  deep  determination 
to  forget  self  and  give  everything.  Overwhelmed 
with  a  sense  of  gratitude  for  this  favor  he  laid 
himself,  in  spirit,  at  the  feet  of  God  and  vowed,  out 
there  under  Heaven,  to  dedicate  all  the  rest  of  his 
years  to  the  child  whose  heart  had  been  placed  in 
his  care  and  to  justify  himself  for  having  been  per- 
mitted to  go  untouched  by  the  hand  of  Death  so  that 
he  might  be  worthy  of  his  trust. 

God  would  not  be  God  if  He  were  not  accustomed 
to  be  forgotten  except  in  moments  of  great  pain  or 
great  happiness. 

VIII 

BILL'S  lawyer  belonged  to  the  old  dignified  school 
of  the  Eighties,  —  now  almost  extinct.  His  office 
of  many  discreet  and  comfortable  rooms  was  in  one 
of  the  old  buildings  in  Union  Square.  Three  part- 
ners composed  the  firm,  and  each  one  sat  in  seclusion, 
—  cheerful,  urbane,  and  leisurely  gentlemen  whose 
time  and  perspicacity  were  wholly  at  the  disposal 
of  every  individual  client.  Not  for  them  the  mod- 
ern methods  of  unconcentrated  rush,  the  pernicious 
telephone,  undammed  in  the  outer  office,  which  dis- 


246  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

turbed  consultations  with  irritating  persistence 
nearly  every  two  minutes.  Not  for  them  the  dis- 
cussion of  other  people's  business  with  interrupt- 
ing clerks  nor  the  straining  of  voices  above  the  con- 
stant ticking  of  typewriting  machines.  In  a  per- 
fectly quiet  room,  furnished  like  a  study  and  with 
an  air  of  aloofness  that  inspired  confidences,  Bill 
signed  his  will  and  testament  and  the  papers  relat- 
ing to  his  marriage  settlement,  made  an  appointment 
for  the  following  morning,  received  the  hearty  con- 
gratulations and  good  wishes  of  his  friend  and  ad- 
visor, and  walked  uptown  under  the  waning  light  of 
the  afternoon  sun  with  the  complete  satisfaction 
of  being  one  up  on  Fate. 

The  only  evidences  of  war  that  still  clung  by  ac- 
cident to  Fifth  Avenue  were  Thrift  Stamp  posters. 
If  people  looked  at  these  at  all  it  was  with  the  quite 
natural  resentment  that  followed  on  the  heels  of  the 
revelations  of  the  Government's  colossal  waste,  ex- 
travagance and  mismanagement  and  with  the  sense 
of  anger  at  having  mortgaged  their  income  to  take 
up  Liberty  Bonds  which,  if  they  were  obliged  to  sell, 
gave  them  a  loss  and  made  them  feel,  rightly 
or  wrongly,  that  they  had  been  "  used "  as  pa- 
triots,—  a  most  unfortunate  reaction.  The  amaz- 
ing Avenue  had,  otherwise,  superficially  recovered 
itself.  Its  great  business  houses  were  under- 
mined by  strikes  and  a  shortage  of  labor  and 
commodities,  but  outwardly  they  were  as  they  had 
been  before  Germany  deliberately  raised  the  lid 
of  Hell. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  247 

On  his  way  to  his  apartment  through  the  un- 
countable crowd,  each  unit  of  which  struggled  ea- 
gerly to  escape  from  the  City  for  the  few  short  hours 
before  the  equally  eager  struggle  to  reinf est  it  began, 
Bill's  eyes  were  on  the  future,  —  the  honeymoon,  the 
return  to  the  old  house,  the  quiet  routine  of  a  home 
life  that  had  never  before  been  known  to  him.  In 
the  first  series  of  pictures  that  he  conjured  up 
Martha  was  the  dominating  figure,  young  and  sweet 
and  laughing,  the  hope  of  his  family,  the  core  of 
his  life  and  interests.  And  as  these  slipped  away 
they  were  replaced  by  others  in  which  a  new  and 
tiny  presence  came,  the  sight  of  whom  did  some- 
thing amazing  to  his  heart.  And  as  he  crossed 
Fifty-Seventh  Street  with  his  eyes  far  ahead  and  a 
smile  on  his  lips  a  taxi  was  stopped  suddenly  on  the 
west  side  of  the  Avenue  and  two  girls  hurried  out, 
one  paying  the  driver,  the  other  making  a  fish-like 
dart  across  the  street  to  plant  herself  in  front  of 
Bill. 

"  It  is  you,"  she  said.  "  You  looked  so  like  St. 
Anthony  passing  through  the  rude  world  that  I 
could  n't  believe  it.  Marry  first  and  then  become  a 
minister.  Is  that  the  great  idea?  " 

From  the  future  to  the  past  and  back  with  a  jerk 
to  the  present.  "  Oh  hello,  Birdie,"  said  Bill. 
"  How  are  you?  " 

"  So  surprised  that  you  remember  little  me,  my 
dear,  that  I  don't  know  how  I  am.  You  Ve  been 
doing  the  aloof  stunt  pretty  successfully  since  you 
got  back,  have  n't  you,  Bill  ?  " 


248  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

Susie  Hatch  came  up  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  My  dear  Susie,  where  have  you  dropped 
from  ?  "  He  looked  round  to  see  how  many  more 
of  the  occupants  of  his  Blue  Room  were  going  to 
descend  upon  him. 

The  nimble-minded  musical  comedienne  with  the 
plum-colored  lips,  the  rouged  cheeks  and  the  thin 
line  of  eyebrows  which,  having  recently  been 
plucked,  left  her  with  a  disconcerting  expression  of 
permanent  surprise,  gave  a  gurgle  of  mirth. 
"  Don't  be  nervous,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  We  're 
the  only  two.  We  spotted  you  from  a  taxi  and  just 
had  to  hold  you  up  to  mingle  tears.  They  've  been 
washing  your  family  linen  pretty  well  in  the  papers 
lately,  eh?" 

The  look  in  Susie's  eyes  took  Bill  all  the  way  back 
to  his  cabin  on  the  "  lolanthe  "  and  those  days  when 
he  had  carried  the  sea-maid  into  life. 

"  Come  along  to  my  apartment,"  he  said,  "  and 
let 's  have  a  yarn,  if  you  can  spare  the  time." 

Susie  shook  her  head.  Her  face  was  very  white. 
"  I  can't,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  I  'm  sorry,  but  I 
can't." 

Bill  understood  and  would  not  have  pressed  the  in- 
vitation. Not  so  Birdie,  who  had  chirped  her  way 
through  several  affairs  since  her  interlude  with  Bill 
and  would  probably  chirp  through  several  others 
before  her  feathers  began  to  fall.  "Oh,  Susie," 
she  said.  "Don't  talk  that  way,  honey.  This 
means  a  whole  lot  to  me.  And  I  shall  have  plenty 
of  time  before  I  have  to  do  my  bit  to-night.  Thank 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  249 

you,  Bill  dear.  We  'd  love  to  look  at  the  old  place 
once  more,  and  wish  you  luck.  Be  a  sweetie, 
honey." 

In  the  manner  of  all  young  women  who  belong  to 
the  baby  type  and  make  an  asset  of  a  soft  and  cling- 
ing irresponsibility  she  gained  her  point.  Beneath 
what  Jeanne  Dacoral  called  her  pussy-purr-purring 
there  was  a  tremendous  amount  of  will  power.  If 
she  did  n't  get  what  she  wanted  at  the  very  moment 
that  she  wanted  it  something  snapped. 

The  apartment  was  in  apple-pie  order.  Itoto  had 
been  notified  of  Bill's  intention  to  spend  the  night 
in  town  and  had  used  unaccustomed  elbow-grease. 
There  was  a  rumor  in  the  house  that  the  rooms  were 
going  to  be  sub-let  and  the  furniture  removed. 
Itoto  was  playing  up  to  be  kept  on.  He  wore  a 
photographic  smile  and  bobbed  about  like  an  air 
bubble  in  a  bottle  of  cod  liver  oil. 

"  Ah,  these  dear,  dear  rooms,"  cried  Birdie, 
clasping  her  hands  together  and  posing,  devoid  of 
the  elementals  of  sincerity,  for  sentiment.  A 
pretty,  plump  little  person,  with  a  tiny  nose  and 
round  chin  and  large  blue  eyes,  she  might  have 
looked  charming  and  attractive  but  for  her  ineradi- 
cable belief  that  it  did  n't  matter  how  comic  and  im- 
possible she  made  herself  so  long  as  the  clothes  she 
wore  had  been  declared  "  smart  "  by  the  ladies'  fash- 
ion papers.  To  see  her  standing  in  Bill's  masculine 
sitting  room  in  a  silly  skirt  that  foreshortened  her 
body,  mounted  on  the  high  heels  of  blunt-nosed 
French  shoes  with  laces  wound  up  to  her  calves,  with 


250  THE    BLUE   ROOM 

a  string  of  pearls  on  an  ample  display  of  bosom  and 
an  ugly  little  hat  out  of  which,  like  a  danger  signal, 
a  yard  of  costly  feathers  stuck  at  a  most  absurd 
angle,  was  enough  to  draw  a  gasp  of  derisive  laugh- 
ter from  any  stone  gargoyle.  And  yet  she  was 
blissfully  satisfied  at  her  appearance  because  it  had 
cost  some  thousands  of  dollars  to  achieve  and  was 
quite  the  latest  thing.  Poor  dear  pathetic  women, 
—  how  many  of  them  eagerly  sacrifice  self-respect 
on  the  comic  altar  of  smartness. 

Susie  shuddered  at  the  sight  of  the  place  which 
stood  for  home  and  went  over  to  the  familiar  win- 
dow seat  for  the  last  time. 

Far  from  happy  or  even  comfortable,  Bill  opened 
a  box  of  cigarettes.  He  would  have  given  a  good 
deal  to  have  escaped  from  these  sudden  reminders 
of  dead  days. 

With  a  long-drawn  sigh  Birdie  kissed  her  hand  to 
the  sofa  and  the  pictures  and  the  old  familiar  sport- 
ing trophies  and  forced  a  tear  or  two  without  any 
serious  effort.  But  her  brain  was  working  and  a 
new  scheme  taking  shape.  "  Bill,  dear/'  she  said 
tremulously,  "  I  must  use  the  telephone.  Excuse 
me  for  a  moment,  will  you?"  She  disappeared 
into  the  familiar  bedroom,  shut  the  door  and  called 
up  Jeanne  Dacoral,  whom  she  had  just  left.  The 
number  was  provided  with  unusual  alacrity. 
"  Jeanne  ?  Susie  and  I  are  at  Bill's  place.  Come 
over  right  away,  my  dear.  I  'm  going  to  make  him 
crack  a  bottle  or  two.  He  shan't  be  let  off  without 
a  touching  scene  of  farewell  and  a  little  speech.  It 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  251 

would  n't  be  right.     Come  right  over  quick.     It 's 
only  a  step." 

It  was  only  a  step.     Jeanne's  apartment  was  in 
Fifty-Eighth  Street,  west  of  the  Plaza. 

"Well,  Susie,  how  goes  it?  "  asked  Bill. 

"  Fine,"  said  Susie,  in  armor  from  head  to  foot. 

"How's  art?" 

"  Fine." 

"  That 's  good.     Where  are  you  going  for  the 
summer?  " 

"  Haven  't  decided  yet,  Bill.  Somewhere  with 
Birdie  within  commuting  distance.  Rye,  perhaps. 
Her  play  looks  like  running  through.  She  can  drive 
out  after  the  show."  She  smiled  up  at  him  and 
gave  no  sign  of  the  ache  that  was  in  her  heart.  But 
the  hand  that  touched  Bill's  as  he  lit  her  cigarette 
was  as  cold  as  ice.  ...  A  very  different  girl  this 
from  the  one  dressed  in  a  faded  blue  suit  of  boy's 
bathing  clothes  with  her  hair  bleached  almost  to  sil- 
ver and  her  eyes  as  empty  of  man-knowledge  as 
those  of  a  sea-gull.  In  the  awkward  pause  that 
came  upon  them  £>ill  asked  himself  whether  the  life 
that  she  had  begged  so  intensely  to  be  given  was  not, 
after  all,  better  in  its  effects  than  the  inevitable  pov- 
erty and  roughness  and  early  loss  of  beauty  that 
must  have  been  hers  had  she  stayed  in  that  sea- 
sprayed  village  on  the  coast  of  Maine,  to  be  the  wife 
of  a  fisherman,  and  the  mother  of  a  school  of  beach 
urchins.  Here,  in  the  city,  in  spite  of  her  wounded 
heart,  she  had  elbow  room  for  her  soul,  means  with 
which  to  cultivate  her  artistic  gifts  and  none  of  the 


252  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

sordid  struggles  to  wrench  a  little  peace,  a  little 
comfort  and  an  hour  or  two  for  dreams  out  of  the 
daily  drab  monotony  to  which  he  must  have  left 
her. 

He  preferred,  at  any  rate,  to  believe  these  things, 
and,  man-like,  argued  with  his  qualms  of  conscience 
in  favor  of  this  view. 

IX 

"WELL,"  said  Mrs.  Wainwright,  "that's  over. 
The  wedding  dress  is  finished."  And  in  contra- 
diction of  her  tone  of  emphatic  relief  she  heaved 
a  sigh  of  perfectly  natural  feminine  regret.  No 
words  could  describe  the  emotions  of  those  busy 
trousseau  days.  They  had  given  her  a  renewal  of 
her  youth.  To  women  who  have  lived  through  the 
great  adventure  of  marriage  however  happily  there 
must  always  be  much  that  moves  to  pity  as  well  as 
to  excitement  in  the  wedding  preparations  of  their 
daughters.  The  chances  are  all  in  favor  of  dis- 
aster. 

"  Yes,"  said  Martha.  "  That '»  over."  But  she 
was  thinking  less  of  the  wedding  dress  than  of  the 
hours  during  which  she  had  been  concocting  a  plan 
whereby  she  might  escape  from  her  mother  and  see 
Bill,  and  the  rooms  in  which  he  had  spent  so  much 
of  his  life  before  it  became  hers.  She  had  made  one 
up  and  it  now  remained  to  be  seen  if  she  could,  to 
use  one  of  Bill's  frequent  words,  wangle  it  success- 
fully. 

They  passed  down  the  wide  stairs  of  the  pompous 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  253 

building  of  the  celebrated  and  exorbitant  milliner  in 
Fifty-Seventh  Street,  up  which  so  many  women 
hurried  daily  with  sheeplike  eagerness  to  be  made  to 
look  ridiculous  in  return  for  great  gobs  of  other 
people's  gold. 

A  man  in  the  coat  of  an  Admiral,  the  trousers  of 
a  General,  the  cap  of  a  Field  Marshal  and  the  face 
of  an  excellent  specimen  of  protoplasm  went  off  to 
retrieve  the  car.  He  moved  like  an  amateur,  —  one 
who  had  taken  on  the  job  for  a  joke,  or  whose  sense 
of  democracy  made  it  necessary  to  prove  that,  al- 
though he  chose  to  be  a  car-runner,  he  was  just  as 
good  and  probably  a  darned  sight  better  than  his 
employer  and  her  customers.  So  Martha  had 
plenty  of  time  during  which  to  spring  her  little  sur- 
prise. 

"  You  know  that  Elizabeth  Bartlett  had  arranged 
to  come  to  us  to-morrow  to  stay  over  until  the  wed- 
ding, Mother." 

"  Her  room  's  ready.  I  hope  she  has  n't  altered 
her  mind.  As  your  oldest  friend  .  .  ." 

"  No,  no,  Mother.  Nothing  like  that.  Elizabeth  is 
going  to  leave  even  her  husband  to  be  with  me  these 
next  few  days.  The  only  difference  in  the  arrange- 
ment is  —  and  I  'm  sure  you  won't  mind,  —  that 
she  drives  home  to-night  instead  of  to-morrow,  after 
she  and  I  have  had  dinner  in  town." 

"  Which  means  that  I  have  to  make  this  long 
journey  alone." 

"  Yes,  Mother,  just  this  once." 

The  subtle  change  in  the  tone  of  the  girl  who 


254  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

until  that  moment  had  been  the  loving  and  dutiful 
daughter  and  who  had  never  conceived  the  possibil- 
ity of  doing  anything  without  a  preliminary  consul- 
tation came  upon  Mrs.  Wainwright  like  a  thunder- 
clap. They  had  changed  places  in  the  scheme  of 
things.  The  young  wife  came  first  now,  and  the 
elder  lady  must  accept  her  altered  position  as  "  just 
mother  ",  an  institution,  one  who  had  served  her  pur- 
pose in  life.  ...  A  tiny  smile  stole  over  her  deli- 
cate prim  face  and  she  bowed  to  her  little  girl  with 
just  the  suggestion  of  irony. 

"  Very  well,  darling,"  she  said.  "  But  try  not  to 
be  very  late.  I  would  like  to  get  to  bed  in  good 
time  after  a  tiring  day." 

This  unexpected  humbleness  startled  Martha  and 
for  a  moment  shook  her  desire  to  dine  alone  with 
Bill  in  his  bachelor  rooms.  "  What  a  beast  I  am," 
she  thought,  "  and  how  I  hate  to  deceive  her  like 
this.  But  she  would  think  the  world  was  coming  to 
an  end  if  I  told  her  what  I  want  so  awfully  much 
to  do.  and  go  home  miserable.  So  it  can't  be  helped. 
Poor  little  mother !  She  's  lost  me  at  last."  She 
put  her  arm  round  Mrs.  Wainwright's  shoulder  and 
kissed  her.  "  You  are  a  brick,"  she  said. 

At  last  the  car  was  brought  up.  "  I  '11  drive  you 
to  East  Sixty-Fourth  Street,  darling." 

That  was  awkward.  Martha  had  telephoned  to 
Mrs.  Bartlett  to  expect  her  at  nine  o'clock.  There 
would  have  to  be  explanations  if  she  turned  up  at 
six.  The  dinner  engagement  was  a  myth.  Above 
all  things  she  wanted  to  enjoy  the  thrill  of  this  ad- 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  255 

venture,  her  first  effort  at  complete  independence, 
as  a  secret,  something  about  which  she  and  Bill 
might  talk  in  the  future  as  a  special  romance  of  their 
own. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mother.  "  I  '11  walk,"  she  said. 
"  It 's  only  a  few  blocks  and  I  want  the  air  after 
being  shut  up  all  day." 

Never  before  had  this  child  been  allowed  by  her 
father  and  mother  to  go  alone  in  the  streets  of  New 
York.  But  once  more  that  little  smile  flickered  and 
Mrs.  Wainwright  bowed  again.  Youth  had  come 
into  its  own.  Her  day  was  over. 

Martha  shut  the  door  of  the  car,  kissed  her  hand 
and  watched  it  edge  its  way  out  into  the  moving 
traffic,  —  a  girl  on  the  very  verge  of  womanhood. 
And  the  little  mother,  still  in  the  middle  forties,  sat 
all  alone,  very  upright,  with  her  chin  high  and  her 
hands  clasped  and  the  smile  playing  round  her  lips. 
But  two  hot  tears  rolled  down  her  pale  cheeks  and 
in  her  heart  there  was  the  pain  of  a  pricking  needle. 

"  I  won't  go  to  Bill's  rooms  until  half  past  six," 
thought  Martha.  "  I  want  to  find  him  there.  I 
want  him  to  spring  up  when  I  am  shown  in  and  rush 
forward  to  meet  me.  I  want  to  hear  him  cry  out 
'  Hello  Babe  '  and  catch  me  in  his  arms  as  though 
he  had  n't  seen  me  for  ten  years.  I  want  him  to 
take  me  all  round  and  tell  me  the  history  of  every- 
thing and  make  me  feel  that  all  the  years  I  have 
missed  with  him  are  mine  just  the  same.  I  want 
him  to  be  excited  and  merry  and  tender,  and  feel 
that  we  're  stealing  two  hours  out  of  convention  and 


256  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

to  sit  opposite  to  him  at  his  dinner  table  as  though 
we  had  been  married  a  long  time  and  feel  like  a  per- 
fectly calm  woman  of  the  world  with  the  slips  of 
foreign  hotels  all  over  my  luggage.  And  then  I 
shall  not  want  to  go  and  he  won't  want  me  to  go 
and  he  '11  hold  me  tight  and  kiss  me  and  whisper  and 
I  shall  cling  and  cry  a  little  and  tear  myself  away 
and  drive  home  with  Elizabeth  with  birds  singing 
in  my  head  and  my  heart  in  my  mouth  to  wait  until 
he  puts  the  ring  on  my  finger  and  we  are  never  to  be 
apart  again,  never,  never." 

And  to  keep  pace  with  the  thoughts  that  made  her 
eyes  sparkle  and  her  breath  come  quick,  the  soon-to- 
be-bride  went  swiftly  not  up  past  Bill's  rooms  and 
the  Netherland  Hotel  but  down  past  the  Gotham 
and  the  University  Club  and  the  beautiful  church 
that  should  have  been  standing  alone  in  the  middle 
of  a  square  as  a  landmark  for  all  people  who  had 
found  life  out  and  wanted  to  kneel  alone  beneath  the 
echoing  arches  and  cry  in  their  souls  "  Lord,  I  be- 
lieve. Help  thou  mine  unbelief.".  .  .  The  last 
of  the  sun  glorified  the  tops  of  the  higher  buildings. 
A  new  moon  hung  white  and  shy  against  a  sky  as 
clear  as  crystal.  The  Fifth  Avenue  busses,  loaded 
with  workers  going  home,  dominated  the  proces- 
sion of  traffic  which  oozed  from  block  to  block,  on 
the  way  uptown.  Among  the  few  cars  that  went 
Martha's  way  there  was  that  of  the  new  breed  of 
scavenger  who  hugged  the  curb  and  rolled  his  las- 
civious eyes  and  invited  unaccompanied  girls  to 
"Come  along  in,"  —  coward  and  pesterer,  fit  only 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  257 

for  the  lethal  chamber.  And  there  was  one  other 
but  invisible  creature  who  dogged  Martha's  steps, 
and  that  was  the  little  devil  of  Bill's  imagination 
who  had  accepted  his  challenge  and  was  working 
to  prove  to  him  how  dangerous  it  is  to  stand  up  in 
willful  confidence  and  say,  "  Nothing  can  break  my 
happiness."  He  was  presently  to  head  Martha  to 
the  Blue  Room  into  which  she  ought  not  to  look, 
and  go  on  his  diabolical  way,  laughing. 

Turning  at  Forty-Fourth  Street  Martha  seized  the 
chance  to  cross  the  road  and  swung  up  again,  dart- 
ing an  unseeing  eye  at  pictures  and  silver  and  curios 
and  carpets  and  motor  cars,  with  which  the  East 
Side  shops  are  full.  She  sang  beneath  her  breath, 
and  from  time  to  time  she  shut  her  eyes  as  they  were 
flooded  with  the  waves  of  love.  Her  faith  in  the 
man  for  whom  she  had  sent  her  prayers  to  heaven 
was  a  passionate  intuition.  In  her  childish  hero- 
worship  she  thought  of  him  as  a  Knight  Crusader 
who  had  fought  his  way  through  all  temptation  to 
stand  unspotted  at  her  side.  Always  in  search  of 
her  he  had  passed  through  avenues  of  women  with- 
out having  been  held  by  even  a  single  glance.  And 
as  she  entered  the  building  which  looked  out  upon 
the  Plaza  it  was  with  the  unshakable  belief  that  she 
would  find  him  standing  in  a  room  hung  with 
frames  which  had  been  empty  until  he  had  seen  her 
face.  This  was  to  be  the  last  time  that  they  were 
ever  to  say  good-by,  and  with  his  kisses  on  her  lips 
she  was  to  go  away  as  in  a  dream,  soon,  very  soon, 
to  be  kissed  back  to  wakefulness. 


258  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

There  was  a  curious  smile  on  the  face  of  the  man 
who  took  her  up  in  the  elevator.  She  was  the 
fourth  young  woman  who  had  gone  up  to  the  rooms 
of  Major  Mortimer.  "  You  need  n't  ring,"  he  said. 
"  You  can  let  yourself  in." 

She  let  herself  into  the  hall,  her  heart  as  full  of 
song  as  a  young  spring  morning.  She  heard  Bill's 
voice,  speaking,  she  thought,  to  his  valet.  She  tip- 
toed to  the  curtain  that  covered  the  arch,  and  peeped 
inside.  .  .  . 

Bill  was  standing  with  a  glass  in  his  hand,  the 
well-known  grin  on  his  good-looking  face.  With 
her  usual  display  of  stockings  Birdie  Carroll  had 
possessed  herself  of  the  sofa,  her  teeth  that  were  al- 
most too  perfect  to  be  true  gleaming  in  the  light  of 
the  lamps.  Jeanne  Dacoral,  like  a  drawing  by  He- 
rouard  in  La  Vie  Parisienne,  was  riding  a  chair, 
man-wise,  with  her  arms  across  the  back,  her  black 
silk  legs  all  glistening.  Susie  Hatch  sat  with  bent 
head  on  the  guard  in  front  of  the  empty  fire  grate, 
holding  a  glass  in  both  her  hands.  Several  bottles 
stood  on  the  writing  table  and  the  air  was  festooned 
with  cigarette  smoke. 

Bill  had  almost  arrived  at  the  end  of  his  speech. 

".  .  .  .  A  good  boy  now  and  the  old  days  are 
over.  When  you  go  by  this  building  you  won't  see 
my  lights  in  these  windows.  Some  other  poor  devil 
of  a  bachelor  will  be  killing  time  as  I  did.  But  I 
shan't  forget  the  jolly  old  times  we  've  had  here,  my 
dears,  or  the  tunes  you  used  to  play  for  me  and  the 
songs  we  sang.  Bill  isn't  ungrateful.  .  .  ." 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  259 

Springing  to  her  feet,  with  a  burst  of  mimic  tears, 
Birdie  flung  her  wine  into  the  air  and  her  arms 
round  Bill's  unwilling  neck,  kissed  him  on  the  mouth 
and  slobbered  on  his  shoulder.  And  then,  with  a 
wail  of  despair  in  which  there  was  more  than  a  little 
of  genuine  feeling,  —  she  had  adored  "  Le  Morti- 
meur  "  as  she  called  him  —  Jeanne  bore  down  upon 
Bill,  took  his  face  between  her  hands  and  between  a 
series  of  resounding  kisses  cried  out  endearing 
words.  Holding  'her  distance  and  playing  Canute 
with  her  tears  Susie  held  her  glass  as  high  as  she 
could,  shaped  her  trembling  lips  to  the  words  "  Good 
luck,  Bill,"  drank  and  dropped,  her  self-repression 
swept  before  a  tornado  of  weeping. 

And  Martha,  tottering  beneath  the  broken  roof- 
beams  of  the  world,  let  fall  the  curtain  of  the  Blue 
Room,  fumbled  her  way  to  the  staircase,-  went  down 
and  down  until  she  reached  the  foyer  and  the  street 
and  passed  into  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 


PART   VI 


TEDDY  JEDBURGH  had  driven  to  town  that  day 
with  Bill.  He  intended  to  buy  a  wedding  present 
for  Martha,  —  Primrose  as  he  always  thought  of 
her,  —  dine  with  the  British  Assistant  Provost 
Marshal  at  the  Ritz  and  catch  the  ten-o'clock  train 
home  again.  He  had  spent  half  an  hour  at  Car- 
tier's,  had  finally  chosen  a  flexible  diamond  and  plat- 
inum bracelet,  a  graceful  little  thing  of  beautiful 
workmanship,  and  with  this  in  his  pocket  and  envy 
of  Bill  in  his  heart  had  gone  downtown  to  the 
offices  of  the  British  Mission  in  Whitehall  Street 
through  the  swarming  financial  district  of  New 
York,  whose  narrowest  parts,  where  they  were  de- 
void of  sky-scrapers,  bore  a  brotherly  resemblance 
to  Threadneedle  and  Throgmorton  Streets  in  the 
city  of  London.  Here  he  found  that  his  friend  the 
Colonel,  who  had  been  badly  wounded  in  the  neck 
during  the  first  year  of  the  war  and  had  done  very 
brilliant  work  in  the  Secret  Service  until  he  had  been 
placed  in  charge  of  the  British  Military  Mission  in 
this  country,  was  up  to  his  eyes  in  business.  He  re- 


262  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

luctantly  would  not  be  able  to  keep  his  engagement 
to  dine. 

And  so  by  subway  to  Forty-Second  Street,  hang- 
ing to  a  strap  in  a  jam-packed  sardine  tin  which 
rattled  and  shook  and  swerved,  he  found  himself 
back  on  Fifth  Avenue,  at  the  moment  when  Bill  was 
making  his  farewell  speech  to  three  of  the  girls  who 
had  helped  him  to  escape  from  boredom  in  those 
careless  days  of  his  before  the  war,  when  he  had 
outdone  the  example  of  the  amorous  Commodore. 

With  the  sense  of  extreme  isolation  which  comes 
upon  a  man  when  he  is  among  a  great  crowd  he 
walked  aimlessly  up  the  Avenue,  at  a  loose  end.  By 
the  kindness  and  hospitality  for  which  America  is 
famous  he  had  been  made  a  temporary  member  of  a 
dozen  clubs,  and  intended  presently  to  choose  one  of 
them  in  which  to  eat  a  solitary  meal,  with  the  Even- 
ing Sun  propped  up  against  the  water  bottle. 

His  thoughts  were  of  his  equally  lonely  father 
who,  at  that  very  minute,  was  probably  taking  a  nap 
in  the  quiet  reading  room  of  Arthur's  in  St.  James's 
Street,  three  thousand  miles  away,  dreaming,  maybe, 
of  the  "  good  old  days  "  during  which  the  Bad  Men 
of  British  Liberal  politics,  by  their  willful  determi- 
nation not  to  recognize  in  Germany's  immense  prep- 
arations the  menace  which  lay  over  Europe,  drugged 
his  country  into  a  false  security  and  refused  to  lis- 
ten to  the  inspired  warnings  of  the  old  warrior 
which  would  have  taken  the  sword  out  of  the  mailed 
fist. 

The  family  house  sold  to  one  of  those  vile  and 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  263 

vulgar  dogs  who  had  grown  rich  on  the  blood  and 
bones  of  his  countrymen,  and  now  taxed  to  the  teeth 
by  the  very  men  who  had  been  too  fearful  of  losing 
public  support  and  popularity  to  levy  taxes  for  Na- 
tional Service,  he  could  see  the  old  Peer  wandering, 
a  pathetic  and  paradoxical  figure,  the  representa- 
tive of  a  time  completely  out  of  date  and  a  class 
almost  wiped  out  of  existence,  from  his  rooms  in 
Bury  Street  to  his  club  in  St.  James's  and  back 
again,  a  poor  and  homeless  man.  He  could  imagine 
his  father  watching  the  frantic  struggles  of  an  effete 
Government  to  reconstruct  a  Constitution  which 
they  had  themselves  permitted  to  be  smashed  to 
pieces,  listening  to  the  ugly  and  perfectly  natural 
growls  of  a  people  demoralized  and  denuded,  and 
reading,  with  a  faint  sarcastic  smile,  the  long  and 
frequent  honor  lists  which  bestowed  new  titles  upon 
people  who  would  endeavor  to  build  up  a  new  aris- 
tocracy upon  the  ruins  of  one  whose  gallant  heirs 
lay  beneath  the  little  crosses  in  France.  At  the  age 
of  sixty-three  his  father,  like  many  other  men  of  his 
kind,  had  had  to  give  up  his  ancient  and  beautiful 
house  to  spend  his  remaining  penurious  days  within 
the  four  walls  of  a  club  and  bring  them  to  an  end 
in  a  small  bedroom  in  a  street  of  bachelor  lodging 
houses.  He  and  they,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  his  na- 
tion, had  been  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  Liberalism 
by  a  dozen  selfish  and  unpatriotic  Cabinet  Ministers, 
backed  by  their  sycophantic  party  political  news- 
papers all  of  which  had  shrieked  with  terror  when 
they  saw  that  Lord  Roberts  was  right  and  had  ad- 


264  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

vocated,  with  trembling  knees,  that  Great  Britain 
should  ignore  her  treaty  with  France.  Liberalism 
to  the  wth  degree. 

And  as  Jedburgh  walked  up  the  great  Avenue 
that  was  so  typical  of  the  energy,  daring  and  initi- 
ative of  a  great  country  still  in  its  youth  he  asked 
himself  what  he  was  to  do  to  make  a  living  as  soon 
as  his  present  job  came  to  an  end  and  he  had  put 
aside  his  uniform  for  civilian  clothes.  He  believed 
that  the  writing  was  even  then  on  the  wall  for  an- 
other and  a  more  disastrous  war  within  the  next  ten 
years.  He  believed  that  Germany  would  wait  only 
until  the  Allies  had  scrapped  their  fighting  machines 
and  turned  entirely  to  commerce  before  taking  her 
revenge  with  a  great  army  gathered  and  trained  in 
secret.  She  would  catch  her  enemies  unprepared 
again  and  swipe  them  hip  and  thigh.  The  blood 
lust  was  ingrained  in  her  body.  He  told  himself 
that  if  he  were  called  upon  to  fight  again  he  would 
refuse,  his  patriotism  killed.  But  he  deceived  him- 
self, as  did  the  vast  majority  of  his  countrymen  who 
had  come  back  to  life,  disgusted  and  with  wounded 
souls.  He  would  go  back  from  whatever  part  of 
the  world  in  which  he  was  trying  to  earn  his  bread 
and  once 'more  offer  himself  to  Death  for  the  Cause, 
the  pawn  of  the  same  politicians  who  had  battened 
on  the  blood  of  his  dead  brothers.  It  was  inevi- 
table. 

He  now  looked  back  at  his  talk  with  Bill  the  night 
of  his  arrival  in  New  York  with  a  sort  of  astonish- 
ment. What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  lay  the  blame  on 


THE  BLUE   ROOM  265 

God  for  a  war  with  which  He  had  had  nothing  to 
do.  As  well  lay  the  blame  on  the  sun  for  a  blight 
on  the  crops.  What  a  pathetic  result  of  shell-shock 
it  was  to  imagine  that  he  could  do  anything  but  hurt 
himself  by  pulling  down  his  Church  and  hiding  the 
stones  in  wild  oats.  The  demoralization  into  which 
he  had  hoped  to  plunge  was  impossible  to  one  of  his 
inherent  decency  and  fastidiousness,  to  say  nothing 
of  ideals.  Even  war  did  not  alter  a  character  such 
as  his.  Training  and  tradition  stood  for  too  much. 
They  might  be  shaken  and  broken  like  the  walls  of 
a  cathedral  by  shells,  but  the  foundations  remained. 
His  month  in  Bill's  rooms  had  proved  to  him  that  he 
was  mentally  and  physically  incapable  of  finding  any 
sort  of  pleasure  in  the  society  of  women  represented 
by  Birdie  Carroll  and  Jeanne  Dacoral.  The  more 
alluring  they  endeavored  to  make  themselves  the 
more  they  froze  his  blood.  And  as  to  the  night  life 
of  New  York,  the  crowded  dancing  floors  of  the 
hotels  and  restaurants  seemed  to  him  to  epitomize 
lunacy,  and  the  wailing  of  Jazz  bands  filled  him  with 
an  overwhelming  depression.  His  reaction  to  his 
old  desires  for  wife  and  home  and  the  decencies  of 
life  was  instant  and  immediate.  Then  he  had  met 
Martha  and  his  cure  had  become  complete.  The 
irony  of  the  fact  that  she  had  been  marked  out  for 
Bill  gave  him  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  not  on 
terms  of  friendship  with  luck.  He  would  see  his 
friend  married,  rejoin  the  Mission  and  wind  up  his 
work.  Then  what  ?  It  was  a  question  that  he  was 
utterly  unable  to  answer. 


266  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

He  had  walked  as  far  as  Fifty-Seventh  Street, 
his  height  and  slightness  emphasized  by  his  uniform, 
a  noticeable  figure  in  any  crowd  by  reason  of  his  un- 
conscious distinction  and  thoroughbred  profile,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  story  of  his  gallantry  which  was 
told  by  the  long  line  of  ribbons  on  his  chest,  when, 
with  a  leap  of  the  heart,  he  saw  Martha  facing  him 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  waiting  for  a  line  of 
cross-town  traffic  to  come  to  a  momentary  end.  He 
was  astonished  to  see  that  she  was  alone,  —  this 
country  primrose,  and  by  the  utter  whiteness  of  her 
face  and  the  agony  in  her  eyes  he  sensed  at  once  that 
something  was  wrong,  that  she  had  been  hurt  by  one 
of  the  cursed  and  indiscriminate  cruelties  of  life. 
He  dodged  between  a  motor  lorry  and  a  taxi  cab, 
being  missed  by  the  latter  by  the  eighth  of  an  inch, 
and  stood  in  front  of  her. 

"  What 's  the  matter?  "  he  asked. 

There  was  no  recognition  in  the  first  look  that 
Martha  gave  him.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  be  turned  in- 
wards. Her  lips  were  trembling.  She  looked  like 
a  flower  washed  colorless  and  almost  uprooted  by  a 
thunder-storm. 

"  It 's  Jedburgh,"  he  said,  strangely  anxious. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here  alone  ?  "  He  had  an  ex- 
aggerated notion  of  the  danger  of  the  streets. 

Like  a  sleep-walker  who  suddenly  regains  con- 
sciousness Martha  gazed  about  her  for  a  moment, 
focussed  Jedburgh  with  awakened  eyes  and  put 
out  her  hand  with  a  touching  and  almost  childlike 
eagerness  for  protection.  "  Oh,  Teddy,"  she  said, 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  267 

with  a  great  shaking  sob,  "  take  me  away,  take  me 
home." 

Forcing  back  a  thousand  questions,  Jedburgh 
hailed  a  taxi  which  followed  at  the  tail  end  of  the 
line  of  traffic,  his  one  idea  being  to  get  Martha  off 
the  street  and  out  of  the  range  of  inquisitive  eyes. 
And  as  it  drew  up  at  the  curb  he  opened  the  door 
and  handed  her  in. 

"Up  the  Avenue,"  he  said  sharply.  "I'll  tell 
you  when  to  turn." 

As  the  cab  moved  off  and  almost  before  he  had 
settled  in  his  seat  Martha  put  her  face  against  his 
shoulder  and  broke  into  a  fit  of  dreadful  weeping. 

II 

WONDERING  what  dire  thing  could  have  hap- 
pened to  the  sunny  girl,  the  first  sight  of  whom  had 
revived  his  dream  of  home,  Jedburgh  put  his  arm 
tenderly  about  her  shoulder  and  let  her  cry  the  pain 
out  of  her  heart.  He  could  only  think,  in  his  en- 
deavor to  find  a  reason  for  this  startling  breakdown 
when  everything  looked  so  well,  that  she  had  sud- 
denly been  told  of  the  death  of  a  precious  friend. 
Children,  it  seemed  to  him,  only  wept  like  this  when 
death  had  stalked  into  their  lives,  and  to  him  Martha 
in  her  freshness  and  simplicity  was  still  little  more 
than  a  child.  It  never  occurred  to  him,  even  re- 
motely, that  Bill  was  the  cause  of  these  broken  flood- 
gates. 

And  when,  presently,  the  cab  having  carried  them 
past  the  Metropolitan  Art  Museum,  Martha  pulled 


268  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

herself  together  and  sat  upright  with  her  hands  over 
her  face,  he  got  nothing  from  her  except  "I'm 
sorry,  Teddy,  I  'm  sorry."  Her  loyalty  to  Bill  was 
too  strong  to  permit  her  to  draw  a  picture  of  what 
she  had  seen  in  the  Blue  Room,  and  it  remained,  like 
a  canker,,  in  her  soul. 

Jedburgh  would  have  given  all  his  hopes  of 
Heaven  to  have  taken  Martha  in  his  arms  and  let 
the  cab  drive  them  far  out  to  some  quiet  place  where 
he  could  keep  her  all  to  himself  till  the  end  of  time, 
to  love  and  cherish  and  protect.  But  Bill  was  his 
friend  and  was  enthroned  in  the  heart  of  this  girl; 
there  was  no  room  in  it  for  anyone  else.  Brother 
was  the  only  part  that  he  could  play,  and  being  Jed- 
burgh,  the  man  who  stuck  to  the  rules,  he  would 
play  that  part  well. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  you,  Primrose?  " 

Martha  saw,  with  astonishment,  that  they  were 
passing  into  that  part  of  the  Avenue  which  dwindled 
into  a  slum  of  tenement  houses  and  small  shops. 
She  was  alive  after  this  death  wound,  she  found, 
and  must  catch  on  again  to  its  obligations.  "  We 
must  go  back,"  she  said.  "  I  am  to  call  for  Eliza- 
beth Bartlett  at  nine  o'clock.  She  is  going  to  drive 
me  home." 

Jedburgh  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  only  a 
little  after  seven.  He  put  his  head  out  of  the  cab 
window.  "  Go  back  to  the  Plaza,"  he  said. 

The  Plaza!  It  was  within  a  mere  stone's  throw 
of  the  rooms  that  she  wished  she  had  never  entered. 
"  No,  not  there." 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  269 

"  But  you  must  have  dinner.  Where  else  would 
you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  Anywhere  else." 

Once  more  Jedburgh  spoke  to  the  solid  indiffer- 
ent lump  on  the  box,  who  cared  nothing  for  the  men- 
tal perturbation  of  his  fares  so  long  as  his  meter 
continued  to  click.  Why  should  he? 

"The  St.  Regis." 

And  so  it  was  in  the  beetle-browed  building  of  old- 
fashioned  architecture  which  had  retained  its  at- 
mosphere of  red  plush  dignity  despite  the  time's 
subjection  to  the  twin-devils  of  crudeness  and  jazz 
that  Martha  pretended  to  have  dinner  with  Bill's 
pal,  the  other  man  who  loved  her.  She  ate  little, 
though,  with  the  courage  and  grit  that  was  in  the 
Wainwright  blood,  she  smiled  and  kept  the  conver- 
sation from  flagging.  All  the  time  the  picture  of 
Bill  being  kissed  by  those  two  exuberant  and  over- 
dressed girls  never  left  her.  It  sent  constant  waves 
of  agony  all  over  her  body  and  turned  her  hot  with 
jealous  anger,  and  cold  with  an  overpowering  sense 
of  disillusion,  by  turns.  But  it  was  the  sight  of 
Susie's  tragic  face  and  the  sound  of  her  deep  an- 
guish that  hit  her  hardest.  Bill's  life  had  not  beer 
hers,  as  she  had  believed  in  her  young  and  simple 
way.  He  was  coming  to  her  not  as  an  original,  un- 
read, and  untouched,  but  as  a  much  thumbed  book. 
It  staggered  her.  It  shook  her  faith  in  everything 
that  was  good. 

As  for  Jedburgh,  who  congratulated  himself  on 
having  been  able  to  cheer  Martha  out  of  what  in 


270  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

the  light  of  her  recovery  he  conceived  to  be  a  very 
natural  crise  de  nerfs  —  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
being  left  alone  in  that  swarming  city  and  had  prob- 
ably been  frightened  —  he  rather  pathetically  en- 
joyed this  unexpected  opportunity  of  having  his 
Primrose  to  himself  for  a  while.  He  had  never 
had  the  luck  before.  And  he  made  the  best  and  the 
most  of  it  in  his  characteristically  British  manner. 
He  treated  her  as  though  she  were  a  little  princess 
placed  temporarily  in  his  care.  He  strained  every 
Anglo-Saxon  effort  to  be  merry  and  bright  in  his 
quiet,  ungestured  way,  and  must  have  appeared  to 
anyone  interested  enough  to  watch  him  to  be  a 
town  uncle  attempting  to  amuse  a  country  niece,  or 
a  big  brother  entertaining  a  young  sister  whom  he 
had  not  seen  since  she  had  left  the  nursery.  He  felt 
rather  like  both  these  people  during  the  even  course 
of  this  slowly  served  meal  in  that  religiously  lit 
room  with  its  dark  wood  and  red  velvet,  its  innu- 
merable tables  of  people  who  liked  to  get  away  from 
the  heterogeneous  crowd  and  eat  without  syncopa- 
tion. And  once  or  twice,  as  he  watched  Martha  and 
realized  how  young  and  ingenuous  and  spring-like 
she  was,  sitting  opposite  to  him,  he  felt  queerly 
old  and  inappropriate  and  out  of  her  generation; 
curiously  unelastic  and  set.  Even  if  she  had 
never  loved  Bill,  so  different  from  himself,  who 
had  succeeded  in  coming  out  of  the  war  with 
all  his  old  gaiety  and  love  of  life,  could  he  ever 
have  stirred  this  charming  thing  to  interest  or 
touched  her  heart  with  the  warmth  of  his  first  love? 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  271 

He  thought  not,  and  felt  humble  and  out  of  every- 
thing. 

Altogether  it  was  a  brief  sad  interlude,  a  little 
oasis  of  companionship  which  had  in  it  nothing  of 
mutual  understanding,  that  both  would  remember  in 
after  years.  Ever,  probably,  it  would  be  associated 
with  dark  wood  and  red  velvet. 

At  a  quarter  to  nine,  the  last  of  the  diners,  he 
looked  at  the  watch  by  which  he  had  timed  so  many 
of  his  adventures  with  Death.  "  We  had  better  go 
now,"  he  said.  "Where  did  you  say  your  friend 
lived?" 

With  the  most  intense  feeling  of  relief  Martha 
rose.  "East  Sixty-Third  Street,"  she  answered. 

"Will  you  walk  or  drive?  " 

"  Oh,  walk,  please.     It 's  no  distance." 

It  was  one  of  those  warm  still  nights  which  steal 
quietly  on  the  heels  of  a  hot  hard-working  day.  The 
sky  seemed  abnormally  high  and  clear,  pitted  with 
the  lights  of  the  cities  of  the  spirits.  The  tall 
houses  appeared  to  be  short  beneath  it,  and  even  the 
Plaza,  with  its  tiers  of  golden  windows,  looked 
like  the  house  of  Lilliputians.  It  was  with 
averted  eyes  that  Martha  passed  Bill's  apart- 
ment. Jedburgh  had  no  inclination  to  look  up 
at  the  familiar  windows  either,  that  time,  or 
make  any  reference  to  the  man  who  had  all  the 
luck.  Instead,  he  ran  his  hand  through  Martha's 
arm. 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me  something,"  he  said. 
"Will  you?" 


272  THE   BLUE    ROOM 

"  Anything,"  she  said.  This  man  was  very  kind. 
He  rang  as  true  as  a  bell. 

"  If,  before  you  are  married,  you  feel  you  have  to 
cry  again,  choose  my  shoulder  once  more.  It 's  the 
least  I  can  do  for  you,  and  I  'd  like  to  do  so  much." 

Martha  did  n't  laugh.  She  looked  up  at  the  man 
in  whose  eyes  there  was  a  curious  yearning  and 
tightened  her  arm  on  his  hand.  "  I  will,"  she  said, 
wondering  if  she  had  any  more  tears  to  cry. 

"  I  shall  probably  not  see  you  again  to  talk  to," 
he  went  on,  quietly.  "  I  shall  come  back  to  town  as 
soon  as  you  are  off  on  your  honeymoon  and  after 
that  I  don't  know  what.  So  this  is  good-by.  I 
wish  you  a  thousand  joys." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  choking.  Joys  —  after 
what  she  had  seen ! 

They  turned  into  East  Sixty-Fourth  Street  in 
silence,  both  on  the  wings  of  different  thoughts. 
An  opulent  car  was  waiting  outside  number  eleven. 
The  well-fed  chauffeur  was  humming  the  air  of  a 
Winter  Garden  tune,  easily  recognizable  from  its 
peculiar  banality. 

"  Thank  you  again,"  said  Martha. 

Jedburgh  rang  the  bell  that  he  found  on  the  right 
side  of  a  glass  door  covered  by  a  screen  of  wrought 
iron.  It  might  have  been  in  the  Avenue  Haus- 
mann. 

"  Won't  you  come  in  and  meet  Elizabeth?  " 

"  No,  thanks.  I  have  to  see  a  man  at  the  Lotus 
Club."  He  had  n't.  He  did  n't  know  a  single 
member  of  it.  Two  was  company  and  Mrs.  Bart- 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  273 

lett,  he  imagined,  was  also  a  believer  in  that  axiom. 
And  so  he  took  the  little  outstretched  hand  and  held 
it  for  a  moment.  "  Good-by,  then.  God  bless  you, 
Primrose,"  he  said,  gave  her  the  sort  of  salute  that 
he  had  reserved  for  Field  Marshals,  wheeled  about 
and  walked  away. 

Life,  like  a  jig-saw  puzzle,  is  only  perfect  if  all 
the  pieces  fit.  He  could  never  make  his  picture 
complete  —  now. 

Could  she  ? 

Ill 

MARTHA  was  afraid  to  turn  out  the  lights.  She 
felt  that  the  bedroom  in  which  she  had  dreamed 
nightly  for  two  years,  and  from  which  she  was  to 
go  forth  so  soon  as  the  bride  of  the  man  who  had 
fallen  from  his  pedestal,  would  be  peopled  by  those 
three  girls,  come  to  jeer  at  her  for  her  hero-wor- 
ship and  scream  with  raucous  mirth  at  her  unso- 
phistication.  She  sat  for  hours  with  her  face  in  her 
hands,  a  little  figure  of  misery,  with  Bill's  words 
ringing  in  her  ears,  —  "a  good  boy  now  and  the  old 
days  are  over.  But  I  shan't  forget  the  jolly  old 
times  we  've  had  here,  my  dears,  or  the  tunes  you 
used  to  play  for  me  and  the  songs  we  sang.  Bill 
is  n't  ungrateful.  .  .  ." 

Over  and  over  again,  remorselessly,  she  saw 
Birdie  spring  to  her  feet,  with  a  burst  of  tears,  fling 
her  wine  into  the  air  and  press  kiss  after  kiss  on 
Bill's  mouth.  Over  and  over  again,  with  ever  in- 
creasing agony,  she  saw  Jeanne  Dacoral  get  up  from 


274  THE    BLUE   ROOM 

the  chair  that  she  was  straddling  with  her  careless 
display  of  legs,  bear  down  upon  Bill  with  a  wail  of 
grief  and  possess  herself  of  his  lips.  And  over  and 
over  again  the  picture  of  the  girl  with  the  golden 
hair  and  the  tragic  face  who  raised  her  glass  and 
dropped  like  a  bird  with  a  bullet  through  its  breast 
flashed  in  frightful  clearness  before  her  eyes.  The 
rest  was  a  blur,  —  her  stumble,  filled  with  dreadful 
thoughts,  into  the  street,  her  faith  all  smashed;  her 
meeting  with  Jedburgh ;  the  dinner  at  the  St.  Regis ; 
the  long  drive  home  with  Elizabeth  Bartlett,  whose 
merry  tongue  never  ceased  to  wag;  her  smiling 
good-nights  to  her  family,  to  whom  of  all  people  she 
would  not  confess.  All  those  things  were  vague 
and  shapeless  like  the  unfounded  suspicions  that 
pass  through  a  brain  under  an  anaesthetic.  The  hor- 
rors disclosed  by  her  peep  into  the  Blue  Room  were 
stamped  indelibly  on  her  mind,  to  recur  again  and 
again  through  the  quiet  hours  of  that  tortured  night 
and  to  uproot  her  passionate  and  long-cherished 
trust  in  Bill,  which  had  been  as  perfect  as  her  faith 
in  God. 

It  is  true  that  if  she  had  been  less  proud  and  less 
loyal  and  had  taken  her  trouble  to  Elizabeth  Bart- 
lett, who  answered  in  every  detail  to  the  white- 
haired  lady's  definition  of  the  modern  girl,  she  would 
have  been  told  that  she  was  making  too  big  a  moun- 
tain out  of  this  very  ordinary  molehill.  The  girl 
who  was  married  to  young  Bartlett  was  one  of  those 
ultra-modern  persons,  who  stepped  into  the  world 
from  a  fashionable  school  with  nothing  to  learn  and 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  275 

so  little  self-respect  that  she  could  regard  marriage 
as  lightly  as  a  game  of  cards,  as  the  first  stepping 
stone  to  a  series  of  experiences  which  would  leave 
her  unaffected  and  unperturbed.  "  Anything  once," 
was  Elizabeth's  unhygienic  motto,  and  in  that  spirit 
and  with  the  example  of  so  many  easily  broken 
marriages  before  her,  she  had  run  off  to  a  registry 
ofHce  with  Bartlett  after  a  week-end  acquaintance, 
rather  proud  of  the  fact  that  he  had  been  very  "  hot 
stuff."  He  had  plenty  of  money,  danced  like  a 
streak  and  gave  her  a  free  hand.  That  was  all  she 
cared  about.  If  anyone  else  came  along  who  had 
more  money,  danced  better  and  gave  an  even  smaller 
damn  for  anything  under  the  sun,  Bartlett  could  be 
chucked,  because  divorce  was  as  easy  as  falling  off  a 
log.  If  she  had  been  in  England  during  the  war 
she  would  certainly  have  been  numbered  among 
those  highly  civilized  children  who,  widowed  twice 
in  three  years,  were  married  for  a  third  time  while 
still  in  the  early  twenties.  She  had  all  the  assets 
that  went  to  the  making  of  such  a  feat,  —  a  pretty 
face,  a  slim  figure,  a  command  of  slang  that  put  the 
great  masters  into  the  shade,  the  staying  power  of  a 
camel,  and  the  quiet  disregard  for  underclothing 
that  had  been  achieved  only  by  the  most  finished 
Greeks  in  history. 

"  My  dear,"  she  would  have  said,  utterly  satis- 
fied with  the  decadent  effect  of  her  black  chiffon 
pajamas,  "  Bill  Mortimer  is  thirty-five.  Does  he 
look  like  the  sort  of  small-town  boob  who  has  neg- 
lected all  his  chances  in  order  to  cultivate  sweet  peas 


276  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

and  quote  Elbert  Hubbard  to  the  elderly  spinster 
who  runs  the  village  Library ?  He's  one  of  the 
best-looking  things  in  trousers  and  has  had  the  run 
of  the  world.  He  'd  be  a  freak  if  he  had  n't  played 
the  good  old  game  for  everything  it 's  worth.  And 
now  you  have  the  luck  to  catch  him  on  the  rebound 
at  the  moment  of  his  life  when  he  '11  make  the  ideal 
husband  and  go  to  heel  humbly  whenever  you  crack 
the  whip,  so  what 's  the  grumble  ?  Drag  him  to  the 
altar,  gold  dig  systematically  while  the  going 's 
good,  and  when  he  's  doddering  into  nervous  dys- 
pepsia shake  him  and  begin  all  over  again  with  a 
man  of  your  own  age.  That 's  the  great  idea, 
dearie." 

But  being  herself  something  of  a  freak  in  these 
most  civilized  days  and  the  daughter  of  Wain- 
wrights,  Martha  said  nothing  and  retired  into  the 
secrecy  of  her  room  to  tremble  under  the  effects 
of  this  earthquake,  this  upheaval  of  her  illusions, 
to  suffer  from  that  form  of  soul-shock  which  only 
attacks  those  of  our  girls  who  have  not  grown  with 
the  times. 

The  unheeded  hours  slipped  away  while  the  moon 
and  stars  kept  vigil  and  still  Martha  sat  with  her 
face  in  her  hands,  a  little  figure  of  misery.  But 
when  the  day  broke  and  the  earth  stirred  and  life 
rose  from  its  bed  to  resume  its  duties,  she  got  up, 
tired  and  aching,  dressed  and  crept  downstairs. 
The  Seven  Sisters  seemed  to  call  her  with  the  prom- 
ise of  sympathy,  and  she  went  through  the  dew- 
spangled  garden  and  along  the  path  through  the  lush 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  277 

of  grass  to  the  hill  from  which  she  had  so  often  sent 
up  her  prayers  to  Heaven  for  the  safe  return  of  Bill. 
Here,  in  this  roofless  cathedral,  with  the  matins  of 
the  birds  in  her  ears,  she  went  down  on  her  knees 
once  more  and  asked  for  help  and  guidance,  be- 
cause she  found  herself  stumbling  blindly  in  a  maze 
of  doubts,  the  only  way  out  of  which  seemed  to  her 
to  lead  away  from  Bill,  even  although  her  wedding 
dress  was  ready,  the  ring  waiting  for  her  and  the 
two  families  within  two  days  of  standing  before  the 
altar. 

But  no  help  came.  Instead,  as  she  strained  into 
the  future,  she  could  see  the  figures  of  those  girls, 
—  and  there  might  be  others,  —  intruding  into  her 
life,  springing  up,  not  in  flesh  and  blood  perhaps, 
but  certainly  in  imagination,  to  stand,  in  crucial  mo- 
ments, between  herself  and  Bill.  Also  she  could  hear 
her  inward  questions  as  to  whether  Bill's  endearing 
words  had  not  all  been  said  before,  —  shallow  repeti- 
tions of  former  love  affairs,  and  feel  the  awful  sus- 
picion that  in  his  moments  of  silence  or  his  dreams  at 
night  he  might  be  living  over  again  the  old  days  for 
which  he  was  not  ungrateful,  in  the  Blue  Room  that 
he  imagined  was  locked  against  her. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  and  turned  to  the  Seven 
Sisters,  whose  old  arms  seemed  to  be  straining  to 
touch  her.  "  I  can't  go  through  with  it,  I  can't  go 
through  with  it,"  she  cried  out.  "  I  can't.  I  can't. 
It 's  broken  my  heart  and  killed  my  faith.  I  wish 
I  had  died  believing." 


278  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

IV 

ALL  that  day  and  the  next  saw  bustle  and  excite- 
ment in  the  two  houses,  —  the  old  and  the  new.  It 
had  been  decided  that  the  ceremony  should  not  take 
place  in  the  village  church  but  in  the  drawing  room 
of  the  Wainwright  house.  It  was  to  be  a  quiet 
affair  witnessed  only  by  the  members  of  the  two 
families  and  performed  by  the  minister  before  whom 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wainwright  had  stood  all  those  years 
ago.  From  the  white-haired  lady's  gardens  masses 
of  ravishing  flowers  were  sent  over,  all  of  them 
charged  to  waft  on  their  scent  to  the  little  bride  the 
affectionate  good  wishes  of  those  that  remained  un- 
plucked. 

Wainwright  gave  himself  two  days'  holiday  os- 
tensibly to  lend  a  hand  with  the  preparations,  in 
reality  to  see  the  last  of  Martha  as  his  own  particu- 
lar property  before  he  handed  her  over  to  her  hus- 
band. In  a  state  of  inarticulate  emotion  he  de- 
voted the  first  of  these  days  to  driving  her  about  the 
country,  giving  her  lunch  at  one  inn  and  tea  at 
another,  saying  not  one  single  thing  with  which  his 
heart  was  full  but  doling  out  to  the  girl  with  the 
queer  look  in  her  eyes  an  intimate  dissertation  on 
the  intricacies  of  banking  which  gave  her  no  clew  as 
to  how  to  make  her  escape  from  the  now  meaning- 
less ring.  If  it  was  a  painful  duty  to  them,  it  was 
at  any  rate  all  the  more  useful  to  Mrs.  Wainwright 
because  of  their  absence  from  the  house  in  which, 
as  it  was,  Tom  and  Elizabeth  Bartlett  got  badly  in 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  279 

her  way.  She  had  her  own  views  as  to  how  things 
should  be  done,  and  since,  without  her,  this  marriage 
would  have  been  impossible,  she  intended  by  hook  or 
by  crook  to  do  them  according  to  those  views,  Tom 
and  Elizabeth  notwithstanding.  Discovering  this 
early  in  the  proceedings  the  giddy  Bartlett  led  Tom 
to  the  tennis  court  and  reduced  him  to  a  pulp.  The 
smile  on  Mrs.  Wainwright's  face  as  she  saw  their 
strenuous  white  figures  out  in  the  sun  must  have 
stirred  the  sympathy  of  all  departed  housewives. 

In  the  Mortimer  house,  Denham,  directed  by  the 
Commodore,  took  charge  of  Bill's  packing,  while 
the  white-haired  lady  and  Bill  endeavored  unsuc- 
cessfully to  put  in  a  spoke.  Anyone  would  have 
thought  from  the  Old  Rip's  excitement  that  he  was 
to  be  the  happy  man  and  that  Bill  was  his  ancient 
and  senile  parent.  The  comedy  of  it  all  was 
brought  up  to  a  quick  and  pulsating  moment  of 
drama  when  the  old  devil,  as  Denham  called  him, 
suddenly  wheeled  round  upon  his  wife  and  son  and 
cried  out,  "  For  the  love  of  Heaven  give  me  my 
head.  Do  you  suppose  that  I  shall  leave  anything 
out  after  having  packed  my  things  for  at  least  a 
dozen  honeymoons?  My  God,  you  two,  use  your 
imaginations  and  permit  me  to  finish  my  job  in 
peace." 

Whereupon  Bill  escorted  his  mother  to  the  hill 
of  the  Seven  Sisters  with  a  lunch  basket,  a  box  of 
cigarettes  and  a  tin  of  tobacco,  and  lay  for  hours 
with  his  head  against  her  shoulder  painting  pictures 
of  a  golden  future,  the  past  forgotten,  while  Lylyth, 


280  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

the  mother,  old  now  and  nearly  ready  to  say  good- 
by  to  a  life  which  had  had  many  compensations, 
let  her  thoughts  stray  back  to  the  far  off  time  when 
she  too  had  been  brought  forward  to  enter  the  mar- 
riage state. 

The  superfluous  Jedburgh  wandered  out  alone, 
looking  no  further  forward  than  the  moments  when 
he  would  fulfill  his  duties  as  Bill's  best  man  and 
watch  his  friend  drive  away,  later,  with  the  Prim- 
rose. He  took  with  him,  on  his  aimless  walk,  a 
new  and  growing  belief  that  he  had  been  strangely 
lacking  in  perception  to  have  dismissed  Martha's 
tornado  of  tears  as  the  mere  reaction  from  girlish 
fright  in  being  left  by  herself  in  the  crowded  City. 
He  was  anxious,  for  Bill's  sake. 

It  was  in  the  lane  that  led  to  the  stone  erections 
on  each  side  of  the  driveway  to  his  house  that  Wain- 
wright  took  a  leap  out  of  his  shyness  and  let  Martha 
see  into  his  warm  and  simple  heart.  He  stopped 
the  car  suddenly  at  a  place  where  the  bald  house  was 
hidden  by  a  group  of  Christmas  trees,  and  put  his 
arms  round  the  precious  child  who  had  played 
straight  and  shared  his  den  and  become  the  living 
embodiment  of  his  domestic  dreams,  the  reward 
for  his  ceaseless  efforts  to  make  good.  "  You  won't 
forget  your  old  father,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  shook 
with  emotion.  "  You  won't  forget  me,  darling." 

And  Martha,  who  knew  that  she  must  go  as  soon 
as  she  had  found  a  way,  hid  her  face  against  his 
chest.  It  would  have  been  better  if  she  had  never 
seen  Bill  and  loved  him  so  much. 


THE   BLUE    ROOM  281 

"  I  shall  miss  you,  —  oh  God,  I  shall  miss  you, 
my  pet.  It  had  to  come,  I  know  that.  Parents 
only  bring  up  their  children  for  other  people  to  take 
away.  That 's  the  law  of  life  and  I  'm  not  grum- 
bling. But  it 's  happened  before  I  was  quite  ready 
to  give  you  up,  and  I  shall  be  a  sort  of  —  of 
cripple  when  you  Ve  gone." 

He  held  her  with  a  kind  of  passion,  while  the 
tears  that  he  had  kept  back  since  the  night  that  she 
had  gone  into  Bill's  arms  streamed  down  his  face. 

And  Martha,  afraid  to  let  him  see  the  trouble  in 
her  eyes,  put  her  hand  on  his  lips.  If  only  he  would 
spare  her  by  forgetting  to  wish  her  the  happiness 
that  she  could  never  enjoy.  She  could  n't  bear  to 
hear  that.  She  could  n't.  She  could  n't. 

But  he  did,  as  he  was  bound  to  do.  "  I  like  Bill," 
he  went  on.  "  As  your  mother  says,  he  's  just  a 
great  boy,  eager  to  make  a  home  for  himself  and 
settle  down.  Not  because  he  told  me  so,  but  from 
everything  about  him  I  know  that  he  loves  you  as 
you  deserve,  my  sweetheart,  and  you  '11  have  a 
splendid  life  and  bring  that  old  family  back  into 
fineness  again.  I  wish  you  every  joy  and  I  ask 
God  to  bless  you.  But  you  '11  remember  the  old 
man,  sometimes,  and  come  and  sit  on  the  other 
side  of  the  desk  again,  won't  you,  —  for  auld  lang 
syne?" 

Martha  had  wept  her  tears  away,  but  she  crept  a 
little  closer  to  that  good  and  guileless  man  who  had 
made  it  possible  for  her  to  erect  a  pedestal  for  Bill, 
made  of  the  solid  rock  of  faith,  and  trembled. 


282  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

And  they  sat  in  silence,  in  the  exquisite  sympathy 
of  father  and  daughter,  and  clung  to  each  other  for 
a  little  while,  before  parting. 

When,  presently,  the  car  was  driven  under  the 
porte-cochere  and  Martha  ran  up  the  steps,  Wain- 
wright  pottered  about  the  garage  for  half  an  hour 
so  that  he  might  present  his  ordinary  face  to  his 
wife  and  son.  Thank  God,  his  boy  would  stick  to 
the  nest  for  a  bit  and  was  to  join  him  in  his  business. 

Bill,  in  his  dressing  gown,  long  after  everyone 
had  gone  to  bed,  was  marching  up  and  down  his 
room  in  the  old  house  that  night,  thinking  of  Martha 
and  trying  to  find  uncolloquial  words  with  which 
to  offer  up  thanks  for  his  reconstruction.  He  was 
moved  to  a  mixture  of  joy  and  solemnity.  His 
Miss  Respectable  was  the  most  adorable  thing  that 
the  angels  had  ever  watched  over.  He  loved  her 
like  a  father  and  a  mother  and  a  lover  all  in  one. 
She  held  him  in  the  palm  of  her  hand.  He  was, 
being  the  Bill  Mortimer  who  had  come  back  from 
the  shambles  and  the  Bill  Mortimer  who  had  rotted 
in  his  youth,  painfully  and  even  tragically  depend- 
ent upon  her.  She  stood  for  all  that  he  hoped  and 
intended  to  become.  She  was  purity  that  demanded 
all  the  best  and  the  most  tender  of  him.  She  was 
youth  that  was  to  make  him  young  again.  She  was 
rectitude  that  was  to  call  out  of  him  the  example  and 
tradition  of  his  forbears,  hitherto  ignored.  She 
was  courage  that  would  set  him  in  step  with  her 
along  the  path  to  fatherhood.  She  was  pride  that 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  283 

^ 

would  demand  for  her  truth  and  cleanness  and  re- 
spect. 

These  were  great  and  uplifting  hours  in  the  life 
of  this  man  Bill,  who  had  come  out  of  all  his  self- 
indulgence  with  a  surprising  naivete,  a  tremendous 
desire  to  remake  himself  and  a  sensitiveness  that 
was  as  keen  as  a  woman's/  And  he  enjoyed  them 
and  the  ecstasy  that  they  gave  him,  for  all  the  sense 
of  unfitness  which  crept  up  behind  them,  and  per- 
haps a  little  more  because  of  that.  No  man,  if  he 
deals  honestly  with  himself,  wishes  to  say,  on  the 
verge  of  marriage,  that  he  is  up  to  the  standard  of 
the  girl  that  he  has  won..  A  man's  reach  must 
exceed  his  grasp,  or  what 's  a  Heaven  for.  To  be 
unworthy  —  not  too  much  but  a  little  —  makes  his 
success  so  much  more  worth  while,  so  much  greater 
an  achievement.  It  is  an  inspiration,  an  urge.  It 
elevates  marriage  far  above  the  ordinary  run  of 
great  adventures.  It  places  it  among  crusades. 
It  puts  the  glamour  about  it  of  high  romance, 
of  personal  amazement,  and  makes  a  man  say 
to  himself,  with  a  rare  humility,  "  Please  God, 
I  shall  be  deserving."  And  what  more  hope- 
ful beginning  could  there  be  in  the  working  out  of 
the  everlasting  problem  so  seldom  solved  than 
that? 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  Bill's  door  opened  very 
quietly  and  the  white-haired  lady  stole  in.  Unable 
to  sleep  for  the  flights  of  thoughts  that  circled  about 
her  bed  like  swallows,  she  had  risen  to  put  her  lips 
to  the  forehead  of  the  man  who  once  had  been  her 


284  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

very  own,  the  lad  all  dependent,  to  whom  she  had 
been  Queen. 

"  Bill !  "  she  said,  and  drew  up  short,  disappointed. 

"Anything  wrong?"  Bill  was  immediately  at 
her  side. 

"  No,  indeed,"  she  said.  "  Everything  is  very 
right,  my  dear.  I  tiptoed  in  expecting  to  find  you 
fast  asleep,  and  to  put  the  clock  back  to  the  time 
when  I  was  the  only  woman  in  your  life.  What 
you  call  an  orgy  of  sentimentality,  Bill.  That 's  all. 
Very  forgivable  under  the  circumstances."  She 
spoke  lightly  and  gave  one  of  those  soft  laughs  of 
hers.  She  had  become  an  adept  at  hiding  her  feel- 
ings. Her  hair  was  hidden  beneath  a  lace  cap  and 
she  wore  a  clinging  peignoir  of  an  egg-shell  blue. 
Imagination,  reversing  the  perspective  of  her  senses, 
had  made  the  past  the  present,  Bill  a  few  years  old 
and  herself  a  girl  once  more.  Beauty  had  come 
back  to  her  face  and  figure  for  a  moment. 

An  orgy  of  sentimentality?  He  had  preened 
himself  on  having  used  a  clever  phrase.  But  there 
was  no  affectation  of  fine  feeling  about  all  this,  — 
his  desire  to  reconstruct,  his  love  for  Martha,  the 
ambition  of  his  old  people  to  hear  the  pattering  feet 
of  young  Mortimers,  the  emotion  of  the  Wain- 
wrights,  the  birth  of  Martha's  star.  It  went  to  the 
making  of  the  first  exquisite  reality  of  his  life,  he 
knew.  And  he  knew,  also,  as  he  looked  into  his 
mother's  eyes,  —  the  magic  of  the  moon  on  the 
sleeping  earth,  —  that  she  had  come  to  his  room  to 
stand  for  a  little  while  in  a  waking  dream  that  gave 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  285 

him  back  to  her,  the  boy  who  had  never  deeply  real- 
ized her  mother  passion  or  put  into  words  his  grati- 
tude for  her  love. 

He  put  her  into  a  chair,  and  letting  down  his 
fourth  wall,  knelt  at  her  feet,  with  his  arms  round 
her  waist.  "  Mum,"  he  said,  "  I  wanted  you  to 
come  to-night.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  it 's  all  the 
you  in  me  that 's  come  to  the  top  at  last  and  is  going 
to  help  me  to  be  a  good  boy  now.  I  wanted  you  to 
know  that  I  have  n't  played  the  fool  all  these  years 
quite  as  unkindly  as  I  might,  because  of  the  things 
you  said  over  me  when  I  slept  here  as  a  kid.  That 
is  n't  much  to  say,  but  it 's  something,  and  it  goes  to 
show  that  the  careless  devil  in  me  was  n't  able  to 
let  me  forget  altogether  the  effect  of  your  love. 
I  'm  awful  sick  at  having  gone  back  on  you,  Mum 
darling.  If  I  had  my  time  over  again  I  'd  try 
mighty  hard  to  live  up  to  your  standard.  But 
what 's  done  is  over  and  can't  be  altered.  The 
future  's  mine  though,  and  I  want  you  to  be  very 
sure  that  whether  you  're  here  or  not  I  '11  take  you 
with  me  through  it  all  to  keep  me  straight  and 
faithful  and  make  me  come  out  at  the  end  as  the 
son  you  would  have  had  me  be  from  the  beginning. 
So  help  me  God." 

The  little  cry  that  broke  from  that  woman's  heart 
must  have  made  the  angels  weep. 

And  all  that  day  and  the  next  the  sun  shone  and 
the  birds  sang  and  peace  hung  over  the  land,  and  not 
one  of  the  people  in  this  human  comedy  ever  sus- 


286  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

pected  that  the  dea  ex  machina,  the  little  leading 
lady,  the  young  bride  to  be,  was  trying,  like  a  pris- 
oner condemned  to  death,  to  find  a  way  to  live,  to 
break  from  a  bond  which,  although  to  be  blessed 
by  the  church,  had  become  unholy  in  her  eyes. 

V 

BARCLAY  MORTIMER,  made  up  for  a  wedding  and 
entirely  outside  himself,  according  to  Denham, 
put  the  bridegroom  through  a  close  inspection. 

"  Um,"  he  said,  walking  slowly  and  disconcert- 
ingly round  the  nervous  and  jumpy  Bill.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  '11  have  to  go  like  that." 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  me  ?  Oh,  curse  this 
collar." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  why  did  n't  you  take  me  to 
that  damned  tailor  of  yours  ?  He  's  waisted  you 
too  high.  He  's  cut  your  tails  in  the  appalling  mod- 
ern way  that  allows  them  to  bulge  open  at  every 
movement  you  make.  He  's  given  you  two  buttons 
too  many  at  the  top  of  your  waistcoat  "  —  he  called 
it  westkut  as  you  may  suppose  —  "  and  he  's  skimped 
on  your  trousers  in  the  German  American  manner 
that  puts  some  of  the  men  of  my  country  among  the 
comics." 

"  I  took  what  he  gave  me,"  said  Bill,  with  a  val- 
iant effort  to  retain  his  temper. 

"  I  see  that,  my  boy,"  replied  Barclay  Mortimer, 
dryly.  "  But  don't  you  know  that  the  only  way  to 
get  civilized  garments  from  a  tailor  is  not  to  let 
him  make  what  he  wants  but  what  you  intend  to 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  287 

have,  if  necessary,  at  the  point  of  a  revolver? 
There's  not  one  thing  right  about  you,  Bill,  I  re- 
gret to  say.  You  don't  look  remotely  like  a  gentle- 
man, my  dear  fellow.  Thank  Heaven  it 's  to  be  a 
family  affair  from  which  the  evil  eye  of  the  camera 
will  be  absent.  Scrap  those  dreadful  things  as  soon 
as  you  can  get  out  of  them,  but  don't  give  them  to 
Denham.  He  knows  clothes." 

Denham  bowed  to  hide  his  chagrin.  Having  the 
run  of  the  Commodore's  wardrobe  and  everything 
that  he  discarded  he  certainly  would  not  have  been 
seen  dead  in  Bill's  things.  He  could  have  sold  the 
damned  things  to  the  village  undertaker,  though. 

Bill  was  no  pacifist.  He  had  been  struggling  for 
two  days  to  say  nothing  to  hurt  the  old  man's  feel- 
ings, but  this  was  the  limit  of  his  endurance.  "  I 
know  I  look  like  a  cursed  cow-puncher  in.  Sunday 
reach-me-downs,"  he  said,  "  and  I  'm  as  nervous 
as  a  cat  now.  Why  go  out  of  your  way  to  make  me 
worse?  You  want  me  to  get  married,  don't 
you?  It  won't  amuse  you  if  I  can  the  whole  show, 
will  it  ?  Because  that 's  what  I  shall  do  if  you  pick 
on  me  any  more."  He  turned  savagely  on  a  hat 
box  and  let  out  a  kick  that  sent  it  into  the  middle  of 
next  week. 

There  was  a  cry  from  Denham  and  a  groan  from 
the  Commodore.  A  new  and  glossy  hat  was  in  that 
box.  A  nice-looking  thing  it  would  be  after  this 
brutal  treatment. 

And  then  Bill  burst  into  a  great  laugh  and  put  his 
arm  round  his  father's  shoulders.  "  Good  Lord," 


288  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

he  said.  "  Anyone  would  think  to  see  all  this  tem- 
perament that  we  were  long-haired  musicians  or 
something.  After  all,  Dad,  I  'm  going  to  be  mar- 
ried, not  buried.  Let 's  be  cheerful.  Let 's  see  it 
through  with  a  grin." 

For  the  first  time  for  forty-eight  hours  the  old 
man's  sense  of  humor  came  through.  "  The  size 
and  shape  of  my  grandchild  don't  depend  on  the 
cut  of  a  coat,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  coarseness, 
and  joined  in  the  laugh.  Whereupon  the  heat  of 
the  atmosphere  became  normal  once  more  and  busi- 
ness proceeded  without  further  hitches. 

It  was  true  that  there  were  a  number  of  bad 
points  in  Bill's  appearance,  but  they  couldn't  take 
away  from  the  excellence  of  his  tall  wiry  figure,  his 
well-cut,  sun-tanned  face  or  the  expression  of  boyish 
excitement  in  his  large  dark  eyes.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  absolute  perfection  of  the  Old  Rip,  who 
might  have  stepped  out  of  the  pages  of  a  book  of 
English  fashion  plates,  served  rather  to  call  atten- 
tion to  the  sadness  of  his  dyed  hair,  the  pouter  pi- 
geon effect  caused  by  his  corsets  and  the  general  ap- 
pearance of  pathetic  time-wrestle  that  was  all  about 
him.  Life  is  very  just  in  its  compensations. 

In  the  meantime  the  white-haired  lady,  all  ready 
for  the  ceremony,  had  driven  unnoticed  into  the 
village,  spent  ten  minutes  on  her  knees  in  the  quiet 
church  and  returned  to  walk  among  her  roses,  with 
a  little  smile  on  her  face.  Her  scheme  to  bring 
Martha  forward,  the  last  and  most  urgent  of  all 
her  schemes,  had  worked  with  amazing  smoothness, 


THE   BLUE   ROOM  289 

she  thought.  By  the  grace  of  God  she  would  not 
now  pass  out  of  life  without  having  the  joy  and  de- 
light of  welcoming  a  grandchild  to  the  old  house. 
And  she  congratulated  herself  on  what  she  looked 
upon  as  her  master-stroke  as  she  passed  slowly  from 
rose  to  rose  in  that  charming  garden  of  hers. 

Little  she  knew,  poor  lady,  of  the  cruel  and  shat- 
tering plan  that  Martha  was  just  then  making  to 
punish  Bill  for  his  Blue  Room. 

Jedburgh  was  reading  out  in  the'  sun  when  Bill 
burst  upon  him  like  a  tornado.  "  Have  you  ever 
been  to  a  wedding  in  a  drawing-room  before, 
Teddy?" 

"  No,  never." 

"  Great  guns !  " 

"Why,  what's  the  trouble?" 

Bill  answered  the  question  by  asking  another. 
Everything  may  be  excused  in  a  man  on  the  verge 
of  being  married.  "  Will  you  do  something  for  me? 
Will  you  go  over  to  the  Wainwrights'  and  interview 
the  padre  ?  The  old  boy  stayed  there  last  night  and 
will  be  hanging  about  doing  nothing.  Ask  him  the 
routine  for  me,  Teddy.  Get  him  to  tell  you  when  T 
march  in  and  how,  and  where  I  stand  when  I  get 
there  and  all  that.  I  'm  awful  sorry  to  work  you, 
old  man,  but  I  don't  want  to  make  any  bloomers  and 
look  a  bigger  boob  than  I  feel  in  these  frightful 
clothes,  and  Mrs.  Wainwright  will  throw  a  fit  if  I 
stand  on  the  wrong  side  of  something.  If  you  get 
all  the  dope  you  can  prime  me  up  when  I  drive 


290  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

round  with  mother  and  the  old  man.  I  've  tried  to 
get  it  from  him,  but  he  's  almost  as  fluffy-minded  as 
I  am  to-day,  and  mother  says  she  could  n't  venture 
to  suggest  the  Boston  way  of  doing  this  thing. 
Hang  about  on  the  steps  and  pounce  when  you  see 
me.  It 's  frightfully  important,  old  son,  or  I 
would  n't  ask  you  to  do  it." 

"  It  is  frightfully  important,  Bill,  and  must  be 
done,"  said  Jedburgh,  gravely.  He  had  never  seen 
his  friend  in  such  a  condition  of  mental  and 
physical  frazzle.  He  had  obviously  to  be  humored. 
"Can  I  take  a  car?" 

"  Take  the  lot.    You  've  got  the  ring  all  right  ?  " 

"  Rather." 

"  Sure,  Teddy  ?    Absolutely  sure  ?  " 

Jedburgh  brought  it  out  to  prove  the  fact. 

And  Bill  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  He  was  a  very 
worried  Bill.  "  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do 
without  you,  Teddy.  You  're  like  one  of  the  lions 
in  Trafalgar  Square.  God  bless  you,  old  man." 

"  God  bless  you,  old  man,  and  the  little  bride." 
And  they  shook  hands  as  though  they  were  about  to 
part  for  many  years. 

But  the  car  had  only  gone  halfway  down  the 
drive  when  there  was  a  tremendous  shout.  The 
chauffeur  clapped  on  the  brakes.  Bill  came  along- 
side under  the  old  trees,  breathless. 

"  Did  I  ask  you  if  you  had  the  ring,  Teddy?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jedburgh,  more  gravely  than  before. 
"  But  I  have."  And  once  again  he  held  it  out  to 
prove  the  fact. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  291 

And  this  time  the  old  grin  spread  itself  over  Bill's 
face,  and  he  gave  a  gesture  with  which  to  express 
his  honest  belief  that  he  was  as  near  protoplasm  as 
a  bridegroom  can  get  and  his  profound  apologies 
for  the  very  natural  mishap.  And  then  he  walked 
back  saying  aloud  hoarsely  the  responses  that  would 
be  presently  demanded  of  him.  Married,  —  and  to 
that  bewitching  girl  with  her  flower  face  and  the 
honesty  of  a  lighthouse.  It  was  inconceivable.  If 
the  men  of  his  old  regiment  had  been  able  to  see 
him  then  they  would  have  blinked  in  amazement. 
They  would  n't  have  recognized  the  old  cool,  light- 
hearted  Bill. 

In  the  blue  sky  there  was  a  cloud  a  good  deal 
larger  than  a  man's  hand. 

Jedburgh  interviewed  a  garrulous  maid  in  the 
hall  of  the  Wain w right  house.  The  drawing-room 
door  was  closed.  But  everywhere  there  were  flow- 
ers. He  was  told  that  Miss  Martha  had  been 
dressed  some  time,  that  Mrs.  Wainwright  and  Mrs. 
Bartlett  were  now  dressing  and  that  the  gentlemen 
were  downstairs  in  the  billiard-room  having  a  cock- 
tail. Would  he  go  down  ?  He  would.  And  he  was 
left  because  someone  called  from  the  dining  room, 
in  which  he  could  see  a  beautifully  decorated  table. 
Not  knowing  the  geography  of  this  house,  in  which 
he  had  never  been  before,  he  went  to  the  end  of  the 
hall  and  opened  a  door  that  he  imagined  would 
lead  downstairs.  It  gave  out,  on  the  contrary,  to 
the  deserted  piazza,  at  the  back,  across  which  he 


292  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

saw  a  girl  creeping  on  tiptoe  with  a  face  as  white 
as  a  white  rose,  dressed  in  everyday  clothes  and 
carrying  a  small  bag.  .  .  .  Good  God,  it  was 
Martha ! 

And  then,  as  though  a  shutter  had  opened  in  his 
brain,  he  knew  that  Bill  had  been  the  cause  of  those 
dreadful  tears  and  that  look  of  agony  over  which 
he  had  puzzled  by  day  and  night.  In  an  instant  he 
was  out  and  with  arms  outstretched  in  front  of  the 
escaping  girl,  blocking  the  way. 

"  Let  me  pass,"  cried  Martha. 

"  Not  in  this  world,"  said  Jedburgh. 

"  Let  me  pass,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  tell  you,  no." 

There  was  a  dive,  a  scuffle,  a  little  heartrending 
cry  .  .  .  and  Jedburgh,  gripping  Martha  tight  by  the 
wrist,  drew  her  into  a  glassed-in  sun-porch  and  shut 
the  door. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  said.     "  Quick." 

"  I  can't  go  through  with  it,  I  can't.  I  Ve  waited 
till  now,  hoping  that  I  could  stay  to  spare  mother 
and  father,  but  I  can't.  Oh,  let  me  go." 

"  You  don't  know  what  this  would  mean  to  the 
two  families,  and  I  'm  the  only  living  man  who  can 
tell  you  what  this  would  mean  to  Bill.  It  can't  be 
done.  It's  too  late." 

The  bag  fell  with  a  clatter  and  Martha's  hands 
went  up  to  her  face. 

And  Jedburgh  put  his  arm  round  her  shoulder 
and  drew  the  trembling  thing  against  his  heart. 
"  What  is  it,  Primrose  ?  Tell  me." 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  293 

There  was  a  rush  and  tumble  of  words,  like  a  fall 
of  pent-up  water.  ..."  I  love  him  and  believed  in 
him  and  thought  he  had  never  loved  or  kissed  any- 
one but  me.  He  never  told  me  when  he  came  back, 
and  all  the  time  he  's  been  away  I  'd  been  building 
a  mountain  of  faith  on  which  he  stood.  I  went  to 
his  rooms  that  day  in  town,  to  see  him  in  them  be- 
fore he  came  to  me,  to  see  the  emptiness  of  his  life 
until  I  filled  it  with  my  love  and  —  Oh,  I  can't  go 
on,  I  can't  go  on." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Jedburgh,  although  he  believed  that 
he  could  guess.  "  Into  the  Blue  Room  thou  shalt 
not  look !  " 

And  without  tears,  for  they  had  all  been  wept, 
but  with  a  voice  shaking  with  jealousy  and  anger 
and  grief  and  broken  faith  she  painted  the  pictures 
that  had  never  ceased  to  pass  across  her  brain  and 
which  had  driven  her  to  this,  after  two  days'  agony 
of  struggle,  and  from  a  marriage  into  which  they 
would  follow  her  and  divide  her  like  walls  of  doubt 
and  suspicion  from  happiness  and  security.  And  her 
last  words  were  difficult  to  refute,  difficult  to  argue 
against.  "  It 's  unfair,"  she  cried  out.  "  It 's  un- 
fair. .  .  .  Let  me  go.  I  can't  go  through  with  it. 
I  shall  never  forget." 

And  there  was  half  a  moment  of  silence  in  which 
Jedburgh  also  saw  the  picture  that  he  had  painted  in 
his  dreams  by  night  and  day,  —  home,  with  a  prim- 
rose in  its  garden.  It  came  and  went,  like  a  mirage, 
like  a  dream.  But  he  took  her  hands  from  her  face 
and  looked  deeply  into  her  eyes. 


294  THE    BLUE    ROOM 

"  Do  you  love  Bill  in  spite  of  what  you  have  dis- 
covered ?  Tell  me  that." 

"Yes,"  said  Martha. 

"  And  will  you  never  marry  any  other  man  if  I 
let  you  go  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Martha,  "  never." 

"  Then  go  up  to  your  room,  my  dear,  and  get 
back  into  your  wedding  dress.  Of  all  the  people 
alive  you  are  the  last  one  to  usurp  the  punishment 
of  God  for  what  Bill  has  done  before  he  found  you. 
Only  from  the  moment  that  he  came  to  you  have 
you  the  right  to  his  life.  That 's  yours,  and  because 
he  loves  you  it  will  be  worth  having,  worth  shaping, 
worth  building  up  into  a  good  and  blessed  thing. 
Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.  It 's  a  gruesome 
trick  to  fumble  about  among  the  gravestones.  He  is 
your  man.  You  love  him.  Without  him  you  will  go 
barren  through  life.  It 's  not  yours  to  forgive  or  to 
forget.  It 's  not  yours  at  all.  It 's  his,  —  to  regret 
and  to  pay  for  in  remorse.  You  have  no  share  in 
his  bills  until  to-day.  You  may  see  them  all  from 
now  on,  because  he  loves  you,  and  for  your  sake 
they  will  be  honest  and  mutual.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

The  color  had  come  back  to  her  face.  She 
stood  upright  once  more  as  though  a  crushing 
weight  had  fallen  from  her  shoulders.  And  in  her 
eyes  there  was  fire  again  and  something  that 
only  comes  to  youth  in  moments  of  sudden  under- 
standing. And  she  took  his  hand  and  pressed  her 
lips  to  it. 


THE    BLUE    ROOM  295 

He  had  prevented  a  catastrophe  and  trans- 
lated pride  into  humbleness.  "Come  quick,"  he 
said. 

He  opened  the  door,  gave  her  the  bag,  and  led  her 
into  the  house,  made  sure  that  nobody  was  about, 
and  let  her  go.  She  flew  upstairs  to  her  room  on  the 
wings  of  love. 

Did  he  believe  in  all  the  arguments  that  he  had 
used  to  bring  her  back  to  sanity  ?  Yes,  because  Bill 
was  his  friend  and  his  feet  were  deep  in  traditions. 
No,  because  Martha  was  in  his  heart  and  the  word 
*  unfair  '  was  right. 

But  once  again  the  picture  of  his  dream  flashed 
across  his  mind  as  he  stood  at  Bill's  side,  before  the 
altar  of  flowers,  with  the  ring  between  his  fingers, 
miles  away  in  loneliness.  And  very  faintly  the 
grave  and  lovely  words  of  the  marriage  service 
came  to  his  ears,  binding  Bill  and  Martha  with 
a  bond  that  only  death  could  break.  The  ring 
delivered  up,  he  saw  the  look  on  Bill's  tanned 
face  that  made  him  rejoice  for  the  future  happi- 
ness of  the  little  girl  whose  love  was  like  a  star, 
and  when  he  saw  the  tears  spring  to  her  eyes 
he  was  glad  for  the  accident  which  had  made 
him  open  the  door  to  the  piazza, — which  was 
not  an  accident,  for  God  is  very  good  to  His 
children. 

And  as  those  two,  for  better  or  for  worse,  stand- 
ing among  the  parents  to  whom  they  meant  so 
much,  came  finally  together,  he  turned  away  quietly 
and  went  out  into  the  sun. 


296  THE   BLUE   ROOM 

"  In  the  world  of  dreams  I  have  chosen  my  part, 

To  sleep  for  a  season  and  hear  no  word 
Of  true  love's  truth  or  of  light  love's  art, 
Only  the  song  of  a  secret  bird." 


THE  END 


Books  by  Cosmo  Hamilton 


SCANDAL 

"From  the  first  to  the  last  there  is  never  a  decline,  never  a  wavering, 
never  a  false  note  in  his  portrayal  of  one  of  the  most  luminous,  sparkling 
and  thoroughly  human  characters  in  contemporary  fiction." — New  York 
Tribune,  Illustrated. 

THE  BLUE  ROOM 

In  this  powerful  plea  for  the  single  standard  of  morality  Cosmo 
Hamilton  has  done  his  best  work.  Frontispiece. 

HIS  FRIEND  AND  HIS  WIFE 

A  forceful  novel  based  on  the  theme  that  no  unrighteous  act  against 
the  established  social  code  can  be  committed,  without  the  price  being  paid 
as  dearly  by  the  innocent  as  by  the  guilty.  Illustrated. 

WHO  CARES? 

"This  is  the  most  artistic  novel  Cosmo  Hamilton  has  written." — 
Philadelphia  Press.  Illustrated. 

THE  SINS  OF  THE  CHILDREN 

An  American  novel  dealing  with  the  relationship  between  father  and 
son  and  the  problems  of  youth.  Frontispiece. 

THE  DOOR  THAT  HAS  NO  KEY 

A  story  of  married  life  which  tells  what  happens  when  a  man  gives 
a  woman  his  name,  but  has  never  found  the  key  to  her  mind. 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  LOVE 

The  story  of  an  English  Duke  who  came  to  America  in  search  of  a 
wife  with  money. 

THE  BLINDNESS  OF  VIRTUE.      A  play  in  four  acts. 

The  drama  of  two  girls'  careers,  showing  how  silence_on  sex  subjects 
on  the  part  of  parents  threatens  ruin  in  their  children's  lives. 

THE  BLINDNESS  OF  VIRTUE 

Mr.  Hamilton's  play  in  novel  form. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


, 
isma.eria^ 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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